


To Find a Family

by linasane



Series: Home 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2015, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kid Fic, Legal Guardian Dean, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Probably a really horribly inaccurate portrayal of the foster care system, Young Sam Winchester, foster dad Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 08:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4998250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linasane/pseuds/linasane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean's little brother gets taken away, he's expecting the fight that ensues.  He's expecting the stress that comes from separation, expecting to do all he can to get Sammy back from whatever awful foster family he's been placed with.  He's not expecting Castiel Novak.</p><p>(Castiel, in turn, isn't expecting his first foster child - five years old and angry - to be the one that leads him to the family he's always wanted, but life has a funny way of working itself out).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2015 DCBB.
> 
> So this isn't the fic I planned to write for the DCBB this year, but once I started writing this story, it took on a life of it's own. A huge thank you to [deanandishareamoreprofoundbond](http://deanand%20ishareamoreprofoundbond.tumblr.com/) for encouraging me to write this idea in the first place!
> 
> I also gotta give a shout out to the amazing [anoblecompanion](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/anoblecompanion/), who is the best beta ever (and just the sweetest person!) and was super patient with how neurotic I got in editing this fic XP.
> 
> And, last but so totally not least, thanks to [feredir](http://feredir.tumblr.com/), my incredible artist this year!! I absolutely LOVE what she drew for this fic, and if you haven't seen her art on tumblr, you're missing out (seriously, go look at it).
> 
> Alrighty...on to the fic then. Happy reading, everybody!

Dean’s elbow-deep in some fancy foreign engine when his phone buzzes from his back pocket.  He’s technically not supposed to keep it on him at work, but he hates the thought of not being reachable in case Sammy needs him.  He wipes his hands on his jumpsuit before he realizes what he’s done and groans at the dark black streaks they leave behind (but seriously – who the hell makes their mechanics wear _white_?) before grabbing his phone.   _Hunter Elementary_ flashes at him from the screen.  Crap.

Dean resists the urge to run a greasy hand down his face as he answers the call.  “Hello?”

 _“Hi,”_ comes a cheery female voice on the other end of the line, _“Mr. Winchester?”_

“That’s me.”

_“Mr. Winchester, my name’s Charlie Bradbury, and I’m the school nurse at here at Hun–”_

“Is Sam okay?” Dean can’t help but interrupt.

 _“He’s fine,”_ Charlie assures him, _“but it does seem that he’s come down with the flu.  Is there any way you’d be able to come pick him up?”_

Dean’s already making his way to the locker room.  “I can be there in like 20-30 minutes,” he says.  “Is he alright to stay with you until then?”

 _“Of course,”_ Charlie tells him.  He can hear a muffled voice in the background before she speaks again.  “ _Sam wants to talk to you, though.  Is that alright?”_

“Yeah, sure.  Put him on.”

There’s some shuffling on the other end before Sam’s tiny voice comes across the line.

 _“Dean?”_  He sounds stuffy and teary and it breaks Dean’s heart.  He _knew_ his brother had felt a little clammy when he’d dropped him off this morning.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he shoves things into his duffle bag and steps out of his jumpsuit.  “Ms. Bradbury said you’re not feeling good, huh?”

 _“Uh-uh,”_ Sam sniffles.   _“I wanna go home, Dean.”_

“I know, buddy, I know.  I’m gonna come get you right now, okay?  But you’ve gotta be good for Ms. Bradbury until I get there.  Can you do that for me?”

_“Yeah.”_

“That’s my boy,” Dean says.  He finishes packing his bag and closes his locker, turning around to find none other than his boss, Dick Roman, standing in the doorway to the break room.  Crap.  “Sammy, I gotta go drive now.  Tell Ms. Bradbury I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

_“’Kay.  Bye, Dean.”_

“I’ll see you soon,” Dean assures his brother before hanging up the phone and facing his boss.  “Mr. Roman,” he greets.

“Dean-o!” Dick says, too-wide grin plastered on his face.  “You wouldn’t be leaving work early, would you?”

Dean rubs a hand across the back of his neck.  He knows this is not going to end well.  “My brother’s sick,” he tries to explain.  “I’ve just got to go pick him up.  I can call a sitter and get him home as soon as possible, and then I’ll come right back.  I’ll work late tonight, I swear, and–”

“Dean,” Dick holds up a hand to cut off his desperate babbling, “let me make one thing very clear.  You are merely a mechanic, a dime-a-dozen employee.  And right now, you’re not doing anything to benefit my business.  So, should you choose to leave now, there will not be a position waiting here for you tomorrow.”  Dick grins unsettlingly wider, waving a hand at Dean.  “Your choice.”

Dean grits his teeth.  He hates this man.  Hates him and everything his pretentious company stands for.  But he _needs_ this job.

Still, Dean knows he made his choice the minute he picked up the phone.

“I’m leaving,” he growls, pushing past his (now former) boss and swinging his duffle over his shoulder.  “Have a nice life, Dick,” he throws over his shoulder without looking back.

* * *

Dean gets to Hunter Elementary as fast as he can, rushing through the halls to find the nurse’s office.  He hates that he can’t always be there right when Sammy needs him.

When he finally makes it to the room he’s looking for, he finds Sam fast asleep on the nurse’s couch, a tiny lump under layers of blankets.  The nurse smiles up at him from her desk.

“You must be Mr. Winchester,” she says, standing to reach out a hand.  “I’m Charlie.”

“Dean,” he introduces himself, shaking her hand before moving to sit beside Sam on the couch, brushing too long curls from his brother’s forehead.  “How’s he doing?”

“About how you’d expect with the flu,” Charlie explains.  “It’s a little more complicated with his asthma, but his inhaler seems to be helping, and I gave him some medicine that seemed to take the fever down a bit.  At this point it’s just getting him home and stocking him up on fluids and rest.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Dean tells her.  “Thanks for taking care of him.  Sorry I couldn’t get here sooner.”

“It seems like you’re doing a pretty great job, to me,” Charlie tells him with a smile.  “Sam here was telling me all about his ‘awesome’ big brother Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, scooping his little brother up from his pile of blankets and hefting him into his arms, “he’s a good kid.”

“You’re a good brother,” Charlie says.  “Make sure you get some rest, too, Dean.”

“I’ll do my best.” Dean tells her before saying goodbye and carrying Sammy out to the car.

* * *

 Sam’s awake by the time they get back to their apartment, blinking groggily up at Dean as he lifts him out of his car seat.

“Hey, buddy,” Dean says with a smile, “how you feeling?”

Sam just groans and tucks his face into Dean’s neck, his forehead burning up against his brother’s skin.

“Aw, I know it sucks, man.  How about we get you in a hot bath and into your jammies, huh?  And then we can watch TV all day?”

“Can we watch _Star Wars_?” Sam mumbles, and Dean grins.

“’Course we can, Sammy.”

An hour later, they’re both tucked into the couch with all the blankets Dean could find in the apartment.  Sick as he is, Sam still excitedly jabbers on about his favorite characters, and Dean has one of those moments where he thinks that, as hard as it all is, he’s got to be doing something right.


	2. Chapter 2

The fact that he’s lost his job doesn’t really hit Dean until after he tucks Sam into bed that night.

Crap.   _Crap_ , he’s totally screwed.

He does still have his second job working security at the mall, but that doesn’t give him anywhere near enough to pay all the bills.  He knows he has to find another job as soon as possible.

In the meantime, he figures it wouldn’t hurt to try and get more hours at the job he still has, so he pulls out his phone to give his security boss a call.

_“Hello?”_

“Hey, Rufus, it’s Dean.”

_“What’re you doing calling on your night off, boy?_ ” The older man’s greeting is gruff, as usual, but there’s something tense and unfamiliar underneath his usual irritation.  Dean tries not to worry about it as the Rufus continues jokingly,“ _Shouldn’t you be taking care of that brother of yours or something?”_

“Yeah, man.  That’s actually while I’m calling,” Dean sighs. “I, uh, I lost my other job today, and I was really hoping I could get some more hours working for you.”

There’s a too long pause from the other end of the line, and dread starts to pool in Dean’s gut.

_“Well, shit.”_ Rufus finally says.  _“This is some fucked up timing.  I was hoping to talk to ya in person tomorrow, cos this ain’t the kind of thing you tell a man over the phone, but the company’s decided we have to cut back.  You’re the last one hired, so...I’m sorry, kid, but we have to let you go.”_

Fuck.  This is not happening.  This can _not_ be happening.  Dean’s stunned into silence, keeping his mouth shut because he thinks if he opens it he’ll start yelling.

He barely hears Rufus continuing to speak on the other end of the line, something about helping him out or some other bullshit.  Dean just tells him he has to go and hangs up the phone, sinking down onto the couch and burying his head in his hands.

This day could not be any worse.

* * *

Unfortunately, the entire next week is terrible.

Taking care of a sick kid is never fun.  But with Sam’s asthma on top of the flu, it’s a full time job.  Between the coughing and the wheezing and the fever, it’s hard for Sam to get to sleep, which means it’s damn near impossible for Dean to get any rest.  To make things worse, when Sam does sleep, his high fever ensures that it’s only to wake screaming from nightmares.

Basically, it’s awful.

By Tuesday, the apartment’s a mess, Sam’s on his last pair of clean pajamas, and Dean’s no closer to finding some way to keep a roof over their heads.

So, of course, that’s when the social worker shows up.

Sam’s knocked out on the couch, and Dean’s scouring job postings online when the doorbell rings.  Dean pushes away from the table and rubs at his eyes, as if that will erase the deep bags that have formed there.  He’s probably not dressed for company, but he’s too exhausted to care by now.  As he fumbles with the deadbolt, he figures it’s just one of the neighbors with misdelivered mail or something.

When he opens the door to find Naomi, surprise shocks him awake real quick.

“Hello, Dean,” she greets, voice warm.  Despite her severe appearance, Naomi’s been incredibly understanding regarding Dean and Sam’s whole situation.  They’d gotten off to a bit of a rough start when they’d moved to Dallas and Dean had tried to enroll Sam in school without any paperwork to support being Sam’s guardian.  Naomi had been sharp and cruel at first, refusing to believe that Dean hadn’t kidnapped his brother.  But ever since she found out the truth, she’s been nothing but supportive.  Still, Dean’s stomach sinks as he thinks of the mess in the apartment behind him, realizing even Naomi can’t be that flexible.  “It’s time for a surprise inspection, I’m afraid,” she says, confirming his suspicions.

Dean swallows, and immediately goes into defense mode.  “Sam’s sick,” he blurts as Naomi makes her way into the apartment, “so I haven’t really had time to clean up, I know.  But he’s just getting back to sleeping regularly, so I was gonna get everything back to normal today.  And I know the fridge isn’t real stocked up, but groceries are on my list too –”

“Take a breath, Dean,” Naomi tells him as she wanders, ducking in and out of the sole bedroom and the bathroom. “Letting the place fall into a little bit of disarray isn’t going to cause any problems for you, I promise.  I would check into the mold growing in that bathroom, though – a bit of a red flag, considering Sam’s asthma. It looks like a surface issue though, probably containable with a little bleach.”

“Will do,” Dean assures her.  He even makes a point to write it down on the grocery list on the fridge, relief flooding him when he realizes Naomi’s on her way out, seemingly satisfied with her inspection.

And then her eyes land on Dean’s computer, screen still open to the job listings he was searching through earlier.

“Naomi –” Dean tries to cut off the horrible sentence he knows is about to come out of the social worker’s mouth, to no avail.

Naomi sighs, seeming genuinely upset at the whole situation, even as she reminds Dean, “You know that one of the conditions of you keeping your brother with you is staying employed, Dean.  Please tell me that you’ve at least kept one of your jobs.”

Dean wants to lie, wants to tell her that of course he did, he’s just looking for a little extra income.  But he knows that Naomi has to check up on anything he tells her, and lying will just delay the inevitable.  And now he’s spent too much time thinking about what to tell her while not actually saying anything, and Naomi knows his answer.  So he changes tactics.

“Please, Naomi,” he begs, “just give me, like, a week.  I’ll find something, I swear I will.”

She purses her lips as if she’s actually considering it, and hope leaps in Dean’s chest – only to be crushed down again.  “I wish I could, Dean,” she says, “you know that.  But it’s just not possible.”  Dean feels his eyes burning as she continues, but he refuses to cry in front of anyone, even when his world seems to be falling to pieces right in front of him.  “If in fact you do get a job within the next week, you will once again be within the limits of the agreement and everything will go back to how it has been.  But, unfortunately, you know I have to take Sam in the meantime.”

Dean wipes his hands down his face, shoulders slumping as he effectively gives up.  “I’ll go pack a bag for him,” he says.

He gets all of halfway through folding tiny shirts and pajamas into a bag, Naomi watching over his shoulder, before defeat turns to rage.

“It’s not fair, you know?” he growls, whirling on Naomi where she stands in the doorway.  “Just because I’m young, I’m not responsible enough to take care of my little brother?  So I hit a rough patch; why the hell don’t I get any time to try and fix it, huh?  You know – you _know_ , Naomi – that I take way better care of Sammy than some group home or shitty foster parent who’s in it for the money is going to.  Plus, he’s sick, and the nightmares are worse because of it, and he’s got the asthma, and –”

“I know, Dean,” Naomi says softly, stepping forward to put a gentle hand on his shoulder as she interrupts his tirade.  “I know it’s not fair.  It’s not fair that you – and Sam – have had to go through what you’ve gone through, and it’s not fair that I can’t just leave him with you permanently.  But without parental rights officially being signed over, and with the situation what it is, this is the way that it has to be right now.  But I swear to you,” she dips her head to catch Dean’s gaze where he’s staring holes into the floor, “I will make sure that Sam goes to someone who will take care of him for as long as it takes for you to get back on track, alright?  And you’ll be able to see him once a week, if he’s even gone for that long.  Now I know this is hard, but you’re going to have to pull it together right now.  If Sam sees you upset, it’s only going to make it worse for him.”

Dean nods jerkily and grits his teeth.  “Alright,” he says.  “Alright.  I can keep it together for Sammy.”  His eyes lock onto Naomi’s then as he promises, “But I _will_ get him back as soon as possible.”

Her stern expression softens just a bit.  “I hope you do, Dean.  I sincerely hope you do.”

* * *

Sending Sam off with Naomi is an ordeal that Dean would like to never go through again, thank you very much.

Sam’s face when Dean wakes him up and tells him he has to go away for a while is heartbreaking.  Between the lack of sleep and residual flu, he’s barely even conscious, so the news leaves him looking both sleepily confused and horrified.

When he bursts into tears and buries his face in his brother’s chest, Dean’s heart basically rips in two.

“I know, Sammy,” he says, pulling a hand through his brother’s sweaty hair, “I know it sucks, I do.  But it’s only for a little while, I promise.  I just – I have some things I hafta do.  But you’re gonna go with Naomi, and she’s gonna find you someone awesome to hang out with for a few days, alright?”  Sam just clings tighter.  “Hey,” Dean says, forcing a smile, “maybe they’ll even have an Xbox for you to play with.  Wouldn’t that be awesome, kiddo?”  That seems to do the trick at least a little bit, as he can feel Sam’s reluctant little nod.  Dean pulls back to look his brother in the eyes.  “You’re gonna be back here real soon, Sammy,” he promises, and hopes to God he isn’t lying, “okay?”

Sam nods determinedly, even as his chin trembles just a little.  “Okay.”

Dean crushes him to his chest just one more time, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  “I love you, buddy,” he says, before pulling back and steadying Sam on his feet.

“I love you too, Dean.” Sam says.  Naomi sets a hand on his shoulder and starts to lead him out the door.

“I’ll see you soon,” Dean promises.  And then they’re gone, leaving the apartment silent and feeling emptier than ever before.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel is just getting in from work when his cell phone buzzes from his pocket.  He’s been all but dead on his feet the entire way home, ready to collapse onto his couch as soon as he walks through the door, but the name on his caller ID shocks him into awareness.  He nearly throws the phone across the entryway in his over eager haste to accept the call.

“Hello?”

“ _Castiel Novak?_ ” asks an unfamiliar voice on the other end.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“ _My name is Naomi.  I work very closely with Hannah here at Children’s Services, and she’s informed me that you’ve been looking to take in a foster child for some time._ ”

“I have,” Castiel confirms, and it’s true.  After a long, drawn out process, he had finally been approved as a foster parent a month ago.  This is the first time he’s heard anything about it since then.

“ _Well, Mr. Novak, this might be a little unconventional, and very short notice, but I have a child here who I would really like to have placed by the end of the day.  Hannah highly recommended you, so I’m calling to inquire whether or not you’d be able to take him in today._ ”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Castiel can’t seem to get the words out fast enough, simultaneously glancing around his house and making sure it’s currently child-ready (it is, has been since he was approved).  “I can come get him right away.”

There’s a relieved sigh on the other end of the line that belies the social worker’s ultra-professional tone.  “ _That would be wonderful, Mr. Novak.  I’ll be waiting at the office for you when you arrive._ ”

“I’ll see you soon,” he promises, hanging up the phone and grabbing his keys from the hall table, where he’d thrown them just minutes before.  He’s halfway out the door before he looks down and catches a glimpse of powder blue and honeybees.

He’s still in his scrubs.

He should probably change.

Another five minutes and he’s out the door and into his car, heart leaping in his chest with joy at his first opportunity to be a parent, foster or otherwise.

* * *

The Children’s Services offices are nearly empty by the time Castiel arrives, lending an eerie quality to the already dreary space.  The sparse decorations and children’s art do nothing to brighten up the place, and the bright red hair of the woman that walks out to meet him is a shock to the system.  Despite her perfectly pressed suit, the woman looks harried, letting out an audible sigh of relief at the sight of him.

“Castiel Novak?” she says, reaching out to shake his hand.  “I’m Naomi – we spoke on the phone.  Thank you so much for coming down here on such short notice.”

“It’s not a problem,” he tells her.  “I’ve been waiting for a call from your offices for a while now.”

She gives him an odd look at that, half grateful and half like she doesn’t quite know what to make of him.

“Well, this may be a bit of a tough one for your first, but I’m really trying to do my best for this child, and Hannah said you were particularly capable.”  Castiel’s not sure what to say to that, so he just nods and Naomi continues.  “If you’ll follow me, he’s in my office.”

“What’s his name?” Castiel’s curious to know more about his new foster child as he follows Naomi into her office.  There’s a small boy curled up on the couch there, face barely visible above the edge of a heavy blanket.

“Samuel – Sam – Winchester,” she says softly as she gestures to the boy.  “He’s one of the younger ones – just five years old – but he’s had a…difficult life for someone his age.”

Castiel can’t say he’s surprised.  He had figured that any child he ended up fostering wouldn’t be without their own string of issues and broken homes.  But his heart still breaks for the sleeping boy.  He eyes the sheen of sweat on Sam’s forehead.  “Is he alright?” he asks, immediately concerned.

“He’s getting over the flu,” Naomi informs him, “and he also suffers from asthma, so he hasn’t had the easiest time this past week.  To be honest, it’s part of the reason I decided to call you.  I figured you would be more equipped than most to take care of him.”

Castiel hums his agreement, mentally going through which supplies he already has in his house and which ones he’ll have to pick up.  He and Naomi stare at Sam for a few quiet moments before the boy stirs and blinks his eyes open, letting out a tired whine.

“Dean?” he sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, seeming to slowly realize that he is not where he thought he was.  The boy’s face scrunches up like he’s going to cry, and Castiel can’t help but rush forward to comfort him.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he says, much calmer than he feels.  He reaches out for Sam, but the child flinches away from the touch, all signs of sleep gone as he glares daggers at Castiel’s outstretched hand.

Castiel slowly pulls back, grateful when Naomi steps in.  “Sam, this is Castiel.  You’re going to be staying with him for a little while, okay?”

Sam looks between Naomi and Castiel for a moment with wide eyes.

Then he bursts into tears.

* * *

 All in all, getting Sam back to Castiel’s house is quite an ordeal.  The boy cried and cried in Naomi’s office, even through her explanation to Castiel of how things are going to work for the immediate future.  Naomi’s mention of weekly visitation was the only thing that eventually quieted his sobs.

It was then that Castiel realized how a quiet child could be even more disconcerting.  And Sam is absolutely _silent_.  Even now, as he drives home, Sam strapped into a brand new booster seat (courtesy of Naomi), the silence from the backseat is overwhelming.  He’s tried to break it a few times, but speaking to Sam only causes him to glare at Castiel in the rearview mirror.  He was not aware that a child could channel so much hatred into a single look.  Desperate for some way to break the tension filling the car, Castiel reaches over and flips on the radio, allowing soft classical music to drown out the silence.

Sam just frowns and glares harder.

This is going to be much more difficult than Castiel anticipated.

* * *

“We’re here,” Castiel tells Sam as he pulls into his garage.  The boy doesn’t respond or make any move to unbuckle his car seat.  Castiel sighs and turns around in his own seat.  “Look, Sam,” he says, “I’m sure you don’t want to be here, and it has to be scary being away from your home.  I’m sorry that had to happen to you, I truly am.  But I’m here to take care of you, alright?”  The boy still stares stonily ahead, so Castiel pushes on.  “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I’m sure you’re not feeling too well right now.  Will you let me help you?  I’m a nurse, so I’m very good at taking care of people who are ill.” Castiel adds, and Sam finally reacts to that, eyes widening with recognition of the fact that maybe Castiel isn’t so terrible, maybe he is someone that can help.

“I don’t feel good,” Sam mumbles, staring at his feet.

Castiel gives him a cautious smile, tamping down on the relief that he feels at the boy’s first words to him.  “I can help with that.”

* * *

The next half-hour is spent getting Sam settled in and putting him to bed.  The boy doesn’t speak much – just the occasional word about what aches or how cold he is – but it’s leaps and bounds from where he and Castiel stood earlier this evening.  Castiel luckily has a stock of cold and flu medication already in his house, and he gives some to his new charge.  Sam refuses to shower or part with the layers he already has on, so Castiel tucks him into the guest bed in his sweaty clothes, piling on a few blankets before telling Sam goodnight and to let him know if he needs anything else.

Castiel shuts the door to the guest room and marvels at how full and warm his house feels after Sam’s arrival.  The thought makes him smile as he goes about bringing in the rest of Sam’s scant belongings.

* * *

The next couple of days are awkward.  Castiel manages to take the rest of the week off of work to spend at home, but spending all day every day with a child who is clearly not his biggest fan is…trying.  Sam spends most of his time sitting on the couch, staring blankly at whatever’s playing on the television.

He seems to have reluctantly accepted that Castiel can take care of his flu and feed him, but refuses to let the man do anything else.  His flu symptoms do seem to be improving, but the dark bags under Sam’s eyes lead Castiel to believe that the boy isn’t sleeping as well as he appears to be.  Every time he asks about it, though, he’s met with silence.

Sam still doesn’t speak outside of telling Castiel how he feels, communicating in nods, shakes of the head, and the occasional silent glare when it comes to anything else.

The glaring mostly comes in whenever Castiel tries to get Sam to take a bath.  In the two days since he arrived, Sam has refused to take off even a single one of the layers of too-big flannel shirts he has on, let alone take all of them off long enough to bathe or shower.  He’s starting to smell a little bit, but he hasn’t let Castiel do anything more than wipe down his face with a washcloth.

After two days of this, Castiel calls Naomi for advice.

“ _Sam is…_ ” she sighs as she tries to find the right word.  “ _He’s had a rough time of it, and he’s not very trusting of new people.  You have to show him he can trust you, Castiel.  I’m sure you’ll find a way.  But, if this is still happening by the weekend, give me a call, and I’ll see what I can do, alright?_ ”

“Alright,” Castiel tells her, relieved to have a little bit of guidance and support.

He says goodbye to Naomi and takes a deep breath, steeling himself before he goes to tuck his silent charge into bed.

* * *

 On Sam’s third night with him, Castiel’s reading on the couch when there’s a sharp wail from the guest room.  He’s up and out of his seat in a second, barreling in to find Sam sitting up, tangled in the sheets, eyes wide with fear.

Maybe bursting in the door hadn’t been the best idea.

Castiel takes a second to try and calm his racing heart before he slowly approaches the bed, kneeling to be on Sam’s level.

“Sam, are you alright?”  It’s a stupid question, really – up close, he can see that the boy is shaking, white-knuckling the sheets covering his legs – but he’s not sure what else he can say.  The look of sheer terror on Sam’s face twists something inside him, and he wants to do whatever he can to fix it.  He reaches out a comforting hand to lay on Sam’s shoulder, and the boy flinches back violently, terror morphing into anger on his face.

“Don’t touch me!”  Sam’s shout is startlingly loud in the quiet of Castiel’s house.

Castiel pulls his hands back, holding them up placatingly.  “It’s alright, Sam,” he assures the boy. “I’m not going to hurt you.  You’re safe here, please believe me.”

Sam blinks at Castiel, eyes seeming to surface from the remnants of his nightmare and focus on him.

“You’re safe here,” Castiel repeats.  “I promise.  I’ll protect you.”

Something in the boy seems to snap at that, and he scrambles out of the tangle of sheets to throw himself into Castiel’s arms, burying his face in the man’s shoulder and holding tight.

It’s odd, the sense of relief that washes over Castiel in that moment.  As he wraps his arms around Sam, comforting this scared and broken boy, he can’t help but feel like they’re getting somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean doesn’t know what to do without Sam in the apartment.  It’s too quiet.  Even blasting music on the shitty kitchen radio doesn’t help – it just seems to echo in the emptiness Sam left behind.

So Dean does the only thing he can think of – he goes out and buys a bottle of Jack.  Drinking himself into a stupor on the couch finally chases the silence away, replacing it with the blissful dark of unconsciousness.

Of course, that only works for so long.

Dean wakes up the next day feeling even worse, knowing that he spent his time and money on alcohol instead of finding a way to get Sammy back.  He fights his way out of the tangle of blankets that have him entrapped in on the couch, cursing the pounding in his head and his own stupidity.

One look around the apartment and shame turns into anger.  How the fuck did he let the place get to be such a mess?  Despite his hangover, Dean explodes into rage-fueled action.  He’s mad at himself for losing his job, mad at Naomi for choosing this week of all weeks to visit, mad at the world for not just cutting him a _fucking break_ already, and he doesn’t know what to do with all of it.  So he pushes the excess energy into getting the apartment in better shape than it’s been in months.

By the time he’s done and freshly showered, it’s nearly midnight.  Dean collapses into bed and stares up at the ceiling, exhausted but determined.  The storm inside his mind has quieted, and Dean is focused on one thing and one thing only: getting his brother back.

* * *

 Unfortunately, as it turns out, raw determination can only get you so far.  Dean spends the next two days applying to jobs, and the two days after that interviewing.  There’s no shortage of shops looking for mechanics, and all of the people he meets with seem nice enough, but they still turn him down, one after the other.

Confused and frustrated as hell, Dean finally breaks after his eighth interview in two days, when the cheerful head mechanic only gets through asking him for his name and job history before telling Dean he’s not what they’re looking for.

“Alright, seriously,” Dean blurts out, “what gives?”

The man looks shocked.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Winchester, but I just don’t feel like you’re a good fit for the position.”

“How the hell did you get that from just my name and my last job?” Dean counters.  “I’ve got the required qualifications _and_ a solid work history, man.  I’ve been working in garages since I was _sixteen_ – working on cars since I was tall enough to get under the hood – what about that makes me a not a ‘good fit’, huh?”

The interviewer, a portly, grandfatherly-looking guy, looks guilty now.  He pulls his glasses from his face and rubs at the bridge of his nose before looking back up at Dean.

“I won’t deny that you are qualified for the job, Mr. Winchester,” he says.  “But, I received an email from your former employer with some information that was…troubling.”

“ _Troubling?_  The hell does that mean?” Dean demands.

“I was informed that, while you have the qualifications on paper, your work is subpar and your attitude makes you a rather difficult employee.  I can’t say I’m seeing anything different than what I’ve been told, son,” the man says, gesturing to where Dean’s hands are clenched into fists on his the desk in front of him.

“Yeah, because–” Dean lets out a frustrated huff of breath and forces his hands to relax, giving up on trying to argue.  “Thank you for your time,” he tells his interviewer, shortly, before stalking out of the shop.

By the time he’s sliding in behind the wheel of the Impala, Dean is _seething_.  He can’t believe Dick Roman would go as far as to tell the other shops in town that he’s fucking _difficult_.  He was a fucking model employee at Roman’s shop, and he did fucking spectacular work.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Dean yells, slamming his fists into the steering wheel, frustration boiling over.  He’s apologizing the second he realizes what he’s done, running soothing palms over the dashboard of his car, his Baby – the only thing he has left at this point.

Defeated, he drives home.  He needs a beer and some sleep.

Tomorrow he’ll go see Dick Roman.

* * *

 Dean wakes up the next morning with a sense of dread already pooling in his stomach.  He knows that he has to go back to his old shop and talk to Dick, has to do something about the fact that his former boss has essentially blacklisted him at every garage in town.  However, that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier for him to get out of bed and actually go do it.

By the time Dean pulls into the parking lot at Roman’s garage, the tangle of nerves seems to have migrated from his stomach up into his throat.  He tries to swallow it down as he walks through the doors.  The receptionist is clearly expecting him, not hesitating to direct him back towards the main office.  He passes by a few of his old coworkers in the break room on the way Roman’s office, but none of them so much as wave at him.  Why would they?  It’s not like Dean was close to any of them, despite the fact that he worked here for over a year.  As he continues down the sterile white hallway, Dean remembers just how much he hates this place.

Of course, that doesn’t even compare to how much he hates Dick Roman himself.

Dean walks into the office to find the man in question already waiting for him, usual smug smile firmly in place.  It’s all Dean can do to keep himself from punching it right off of his face.

“Mr. Winchester!” Dick greets, insincere tone bright as his fake smile turns up at the corners even more.  “What can I do for you?”

Dean grits his teeth to keep himself from telling the other man he can go fuck himself is what he can do, instead sitting calmly in one of the chairs across from Dick.

“Mr. Roman,” he says, “I need you to – please – stop lying about me to other shops around town.”

Dick grins impossibly wider, leaning back in his chair.  “Now, why would I do that?”

Dean just gapes at him for a second, fumbling for an answer.  “Because it’s the decent thing to do?” he finally gets out.

“Oh, Dean,” Dick says, “there’s no decency in business.  And what you’re suggesting does absolutely nothing for me in return.  Here’s what I could do, though.  I could hire you back, if you wanted.  I guess it’s your only option if no other shop will take you, now, isn’t it?”

Dean can’t believe what he’s hearing.  “This was all a fucking ploy just to get me back here?” he asks, incredulously, losing his cool completely.  “What the hell?   _You_ were the one who fired me?”

“Ah-ah,” Dick cautions, “is that any way to speak to someone who’s trying to help you, Dean?  Perhaps I’ve just decided it’s easier to rehire you than to go through the hassle of trying to find someone else.  Interviews are boring, you know?”  Dick sits up straighter then, reaching for a folder off to the side of his desk and flipping it open for Dean to read.  “Of course, we’d have to adjust your pay and hours a little bit, considering.”

Dean leans forward and is fucking livid at what he sees.  “A little bit?” he nearly shouts.  “This is _half_ of what I was making before!  That’s not even minimum wage; how the fuck is this legal?”

Dick just shrugs at him.  “It’s what I’m offering, Dean.  And it’s more than you’ll get from anyone else around here, isn’t it?”  He shifts his attention to another file on his desk, indifferent now.  “Your choice, Mr. Winchester: take it or leave it.”

“I think I’ll leave it,” Dean huffs, pushing up from his chair angrily, “Thanks, Dick.”

“By the way,” Dick’s voice stops him on his way out the door, “you’ll find that I haven’t just been contacting the shops in town.  Good luck finding a mechanic job anywhere.”

Dean turns to stare open-mouthed at his former boss.  “Why the fuck would you even do that?”

Dick just shrugs, cruel grin belying his indifferent tone.  “Business, Mr. Winchester.  It’s all just...business.”

Dean’s about to tell him where he can shove his business when he catches sight of the security guard watching him from outside the doorway and decides he really doesn’t need to get arrested on top of everything else.  It pains him to let Roman get the last word, but he figures there’s still some dignity in storming out of the building.

He’s halfway to his car before he realizes he’s just blown his last chance at another mechanic job.

What the fuck else is he gonna do?

* * *

 Something changes the morning after Sam’s nightmare.

When Sam shuffles out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, quietly climbing into what’s become his seat, Castiel’s prepared for them to go through their same silent morning routine.  However, when he sets Sam’s breakfast down in front of him, the boy looks up and makes eye contact without glaring.

“Thanks,” he says.  It’s quiet, but it’s warmer than anything he’s said before.

“You’re welcome, Sam,” Castiel says sincerely, giving him a cautious smile as he slides into his own seat.

They eat in silence, still, but it’s not the awkward tension that Castiel has become accustomed to in Sam’s short stay with him.  There’s even something about the set of the boy’s shoulders that seems just a little bit more relaxed than usual, as he devours his eggs and toast.

When they finish eating, Castiel expects Sam to go and settle in on the couch for another day spent watching the TV.  Instead, he lingers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Sam,” Castiel ventures, “are you alright?”

Sam nods, jerkily.  “Can I, um…I wanna take a bath,” he blurts out, glancing up at Castiel nervously, as if he’s asked for something unreasonable.

“Oh, of course,” Castiel tries to reassure him.  “Come on then, let me get you set up.”  He leads Sam into the bathroom, turning on the water for him and pulling down a spare towel and kid friendly shampoo from the cabinet.  “I don’t have any bath toys or anything,” he apologizes, “but if that’s something you want, we could go out and get some.”

Sam just stares at him like he doesn’t know what Castiel’s rambling on about, and Castiel realizes that this child may never have had such a luxury as bath toys.  He vows to purchase some as soon as possible.

“Right,” he says, pulling himself out of his own head, “well I’ll leave so that you can have some privacy, but I’d feel better leaving the door open just a crack so I can make sure you’re doing okay in here.  Is that alright with you, Sam?”

The boy nods, looking relieved at the fact that Castiel won’t be sticking around.

“I’ll just…be out here, then,” Castiel tells him, backing out of the bathroom.  “Yell if you need anything.”

He walks back into the kitchen to finish his breakfast with a smile on his face.  It seems that Sam is starting to trust him a little bit after all.

* * *

 Castiel expects Sam to take a while in the bathroom – after all, bath time is like playtime for little kids, isn’t it? – and startles when, not fifteen minutes later, he turns from doing dishes to find Sam standing behind him.  The boy’s wrapped in a too-big towel, the ends of it trailing behind him.

“I can’t find my clothes,” he tells Castiel.

“Oh!  Sorry, Sam, I wasn’t sure what was clean or dirty, so I washed everything when you got here.  They’re still in the dryer,” he explains, drying his hands before heading down the hallway.  “Follow me.”

Sam doesn’t say anything else, but Castiel can hear the sound of damp feet padding down the hallway behind him.  Something about it causes warmth to flood his chest.  He shows Sam where the washer and dryer are, and where to put his dirty clothes if he wants them washed, before helping the boy choose a pair of pajamas out of the crumpled mess of clothing still sitting in the dryer.

He’s still crouched down to Sam’s level when the boy turns to go back to his room and change, so when the towel slips down as he walks, Castiel gets a clear view of the scars that cover Sam’s thin shoulders and back.

Immediately, he sees red.  He _knows_ what those scars are from, can recognize the markings of cigarette burns and the places where skin has split under the force of a fist or a belt.  He’s spent enough nights in the emergency room taking care of children, teenagers, and even grown adults who bore the same scars.  But he’s never seen scars this long-healed on someone so young.  It takes a true monster to beat a _toddler_.

It all pieces together now – the “rough time” Naomi had mentioned, Sam’s nightmares, the way the boy had flinched back from being touched – and it makes Castiel angry, it makes him furious.

Castiel wonders exactly what kind of person could do this to a child, what kind of evil could possess someone to allow them to inflict such pain on their child, their own flesh and blood.  He also wonders how it could have taken so long for the boy to be pulled from a situation that left him so _scarred_ that he doesn’t trust anyone.  The only thing that tempers his fury is his gratitude that Sam is no longer with whoever had done that to him, and that Castiel has a chance to give Sam the care that he has clearly been lacking in his short life.

* * *

 The rest of Dean’s week is spent wallowing in the futility of job searching.  After the whole debacle with Dick Roman, he gives up on trying to find any sort of mechanic job.  Unfortunately, there’s not much else he can get with a high school diploma and half a degree.  He resigns himself to minimum wage job listings, which are limited.  With so many high school kids working the same jobs, everyone Dean calls says they’re no longer looking for anyone, call back in June.

By the weekend, Dean’s about ready to tear his hair out.  He drained his bottle of Jack the day he bought it, and can’t justify spending his meager funds on more.  Without the aid of alcohol, Dean hasn’t slept properly in days, and he’s exhausted.  The only light at the end of the tunnel is that he gets to see Sammy on Sunday, but even that’s stressful.  He keeps hearing his promise that he’d get Sam back soon, but with his unsuccessful job hunt, he doesn’t know that he’ll be able to make good on that.  But, as stressed as he is, he still has to put on a brave face for his little brother.  So, despite the fact that he spends all of Saturday night tossing and turning with worry, he rolls out of bed on Sunday morning determined to make the best of the few short hours they’re going to have together this week.

* * *

 Sunday morning finds Castiel and Sam falling into the somewhat more comfortable routine they’ve tentatively established over the first few days.  Sam wanders out of his room just as Castiel’s setting breakfast on the table, and they sit down to eat together.  Their meals aren’t silent anymore; instead Castiel has started asking Sam questions, trying to get to know the boy a little better.  Today, he can’t help but notice that Sam seems to be smiling a little wider as he digs into his meal.

“What has you so cheerful today?” Castiel asks.

Sam stares at Castiel like he should already know before explaining.  “It’s Sunday.”  At Castiel’s confused silence, Sam falters.  “Sunday’s visiting day, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Castiel says, still confused, “and you’re…excited for that?”  He doesn’t understand why Sam would be so excited to see someone who cared for him so poorly that he had to be taken away, how Sam could smile about seeing the monster who put those scars on his back.

But Sam just looks at him like he’s an idiot.  “Duh, Castiel,” he says, and despite his confusion, the way that Sam says his name, tripping over the consonants just a little bit, makes smile, “why wouldn’t I be?”

Castiel chooses his next words very carefully.  “Well it’s just that Naomi explained you were having a…difficult time before you came here, with your–.”

“It’s not his fault!” Sam argues, smile vanishing from his face.  “He just works really hard, and he’s stressed out a lot, but he takes real good care of me, because he loves me!”

Castiel gapes at the boy’s vehemence.  He’s heard these exact same words before, from the spouses of abusive partners, but he would never expect it from a five year old.  He decides it’s probably better to leave the subject alone for now.  “I’m sorry Sam,” he says, holding out his hands placatingly, “I must have misunderstood.”

Sam gives him a sharp nod but seems to settle back into his happy mood easily, the way only kids can do, and Castiel all but breathes a sigh of relief.

He asks Sam about his favorite subject in school instead.

Their conversation doesn’t leave his mind, though, and when the doorbell rings sometime later, he asks Sam to stay in his room for just a moment.

“But _why_?” Sam complains.

“I just want to discuss something with your–,” Castiel tries to explain, cutting himself off when Sam’s gaze darkens into a glare.  “It’s, um, adult stuff,” he tries instead.

“Ugh, fine,” Sam grumbles, flopping onto his bed to wait.

“Thank you, Sam,” Castiel says.  “I’ll come get you when we’re done.”

He closes Sam’s door before allowing his smile to fade and steadying himself, making his way to the front door and pulling it open.

It’s time to give Sam’s so called parent a piece of his mind.

* * *

 Dean sings along to the radio as he makes his way to the nicer side of town, happily drumming out a beat on the steering wheel.  Despite everything he’s had to deal with this past week, the fact that he gets to see Sam today has him in high spirits.  He still doesn’t know how he’s going to get his little brother back again, but he’s actively not thinking about that.  Today is for spending time with Sammy, for making sure he’s alright and that he knows Dean hasn’t abandoned him.

Dean’s nerves do kick in just a little bit when he pulls up outside the address he was given.  It’s a smaller house – especially compared to the rest of the street – but it’s clearly well taken care of.  Something in Dean’s gut twists at the thought that he could never afford for him and Sam to live in a place like this.

He forces that thought out of his mind and a smile onto his face, though, as he slides out of the car and makes his way up the front walk.

All he can hope for at this point is that Sam’s doing well, and that the foster family he’s been placed with is a nice one.

* * *

 Castiel gives his visitor a once over, finding that the man standing on the other side of the door fits his expectations – worn boots, ripped and grease-stained jeans, a worn-out shirt – until he gets to his face.  He’s much younger than Castiel expected – shockingly so – and gorgeous.  This only serves to fuel Castiel’s anger; of all the abusers he’s encountered working at the hospital, it was always the attractive ones who were most likely to get out of trouble.

So he doesn’t return the bright smile he gets, instead keeping his lips pressed tightly together, arms crossed.

“Hey, man.  I’m Dean,” the other man greets, craning his neck to see past Castiel into the house.  “Where’s Sammy?”

“I wanted to speak to you before you saw him,” Castiel says, reluctantly allowing Dean inside and leading him into the kitchen.

“Is something wrong?” Dean asks, concern leaking into his carefree tone.

“What’s _wrong_ ,” Castiel says, whipping around to glare at the other man, “is that I don’t think it’s exactly appropriate that you see Sam at all.”

“What the hell makes you say that?” Dean says, shocked.  “You can’t stop me from seeing him!  Naomi’s given me every right.”

“Which is utterly ridiculous, in my opinion,” Castiel scoffs.  “How anyone could maintain that right when they’ve done such vile things, I do not understand.”

“Vile things?”  Dean’s clearly angry now, and he takes a step into Castiel’s personal space to glare down at him.  “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ve seen the scars, Dean,” Castiel bites out, refusing to step back, regardless of how Dean is looming over him now.  “How anyone could do that to their child –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean holds out a hand to cut Castiel off.  Something like understanding crosses his face, and he backs down to explain.  “First of all, Sammy isn’t my kid, alright?  He’s my _brother_.”

That’s a shock to Castiel.  He’d just assumed that Sam had been in the care of his parents – or parent, at least.  A sinking feeling settles into his stomach as he realizes he’s very much misread the situation.

Dean doesn’t give him a chance to respond, seeming to pick up some of his anger again as he barrels on.  “And second of all, those – those fucking scars are _not_ from me.  They’re courtesy of our dear old dad, who was kind enough to give me one to match when I found out what was going on,” he says, anger fading to bitterness as he tugs up the hem of his shirt to reveal a long, jagged scar that wraps around his right side.

Castiel gapes, even as Dean lets his shirt fall back to cover the scar.  A multitude of feelings swarm through him – embarrassment for his false accusations, renewed anger for Sam’s abuser, and, most of all, regret for the way he’s acted towards Dean.  “I’m – god, Dean I am so sorry,” he says, running a hand through his hair in distress.  “I just – I saw Sam’s scars and I know what abuse looks like because I see it in the ER all the time, and Naomi had said he’d had a tough time recently so I just assumed…”  He looks up at Dean pleadingly, hoping he hasn’t completely wrecked any hope of getting along with the guardian of his foster child.  “Is there any way we can forget about this and start over?”

* * *

 There’s a part of Dean that’s instantly furious at the question, a part of him at scoffs at the prospect of “starting over” with someone who had just assumed he was the type of person that would abuse a child, of all things.

But there’s another part of Dean, a thankfully more dominant part, that’s almost happy that the other man did what he did, that recognizes his anger as genuine care for Sam.  And wasn’t that all he was hoping for to begin with?

“Yeah,” he sighs, trying to let all of his anger go before sticking out a hand.  “Dean Winchester, nice to meet you.”

The other man smiles, albeit timidly, as he reaches out to shake Dean’s hand.  “Castiel Novak.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence between them when they pull their hands back, both men trying to figure out what to say next.

“So, uh” Dean ventures, “you were talking about the ER a minute ago.  You a doctor, Cas?”  He’s totally not thinking about Dr. Sexy as he says it, definitely not imagining what Castiel – who’s actually pretty damn attractive when he’s not staring at Dean like he wants to wipe him from existence – would look like in a lab coat and cowboy boots and—

“I’m a nurse,” Cas’ correction breaks Dean out of his thoughts.  “I was told that’s part of why Sam was placed with me, considering his asthma and the flu he was recovering from.”

“I’m glad,” Dean says, and he means it.  “How’s he doing, anyway?”

“He’s much better.  In fact, he’s been excited to see you all day.  Let me go get him.”  Cas turns to head towards Sam’s room.

Dean’s hand shoots out before he really thinks about it, landing on Cas’ shoulder and bringing him to a halt.  When Cas turns and blue eyes examine him quizzically, Dean asks.  “Would you, ah, would you mind if I surprised him?”

Cas smiles at that, wide and gummy.  “Of course,” he waves Dean ahead of him, “second door on the left.

* * *

 Castiel watches as Dean approaches the door of his brother’s room, taking care to silence his steps on the wood flooring.  There’s a look of boyish playfulness on the other man’s face that lights up his eyes despite the bags under them.  Something about it compels Castiel to follow him, just as quietly.

Dean knocks on the door and waits for Sam’s quiet “come in” before he throws it open and grins, arms outstretched.

“Heya, Sammy.  You miss me?”

There’s a loud cry of “Dean!” from inside the room, and suddenly Sam comes flying out, leaping up into his brother’s arms.

As Castiel watches them greet each other, all bright smiles and brotherly teasing, he wonders how he could ever have thought this man could be a monster.

* * *

 Dean stays for a couple of hours after that, Sam deciding that they should watch a movie together.  Castiel decides to give them their space, keeping to his own room with a book.  The sounds of laughter and movie explosions from the other room eventually lull him into a light doze, only to be woken by a gentle knock on his door.

“Huh?” he says, sitting up sleepily.

Dean pokes his head in the door.  “Hey, Cas.  Sammy fell asleep, so, uh, I’m gonna take off.”

“Oh,” Castiel says, getting to his feet and stumbling over to pull the door open wider.  “Alright.  I’ll walk you out.”

They walk in comfortable silence to the front door.  As Dean shrugs into his jacket, he turns to Castiel.  “I wanted to thank you,” he says, “for, uh, letting me and Sammy spend some time together.  I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it, man.”

Castiel smiles.  “You’re welcome, Dean.  I’m sorry we got off to such a…rough start.  You’re wonderful with him, and you clearly love him very much.”

Dean shrugs, but a tiny smile creeps onto his own face as he rubs the back of his next.  “Yeah, well, I miss the kid, you know?  I don’t know what to do not having him around.”

Castiel’s curiosity gets the best of him, and the next words seem to fall from his lips without his consent.  “If you don’t mind me asking, how did he get taken away from you?  You seem perfectly capable of taking care of him.”  He mentally kicks himself when Dean’s grin turns into a grimace.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters to the floor, “tell that to Children’s Services.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel rushes to apologize, “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s alright.  I mean I get wanting to know what happened, it’s just frustrating,” Dean heaves a sigh before raising his gaze to meet Castiel’s.  “I lost Sammy because I got fired.”

“You…got fired,” Castiel says, trying to understand how that’s an offense of any sort.  “That’s…how…what??”

“Yeah, exactly.”  Dean huffs a bitter laugh before explaining, “Unfortunately, I didn’t exactly take Sammy in the legal way after everything that happened with my dad.  We moved around for a while before we settled here, and Children’s Services wasn’t too pleased that I hadn’t come to them sooner, especially because my dad still technically has parental rights.  So one of the conditions of keeping him was that I had to provide a ‘stable living environment’ which meant I had to keep a steady job.  And I went from two to zero on one day, so here we are.”  He waves an arm at Castiel’s entryway.  “I’m gonna get him back though, as soon as I find something.”

Castiel’s still shocked that these two brothers were torn apart for such a trivial reason.  And, as much as the idea of Sam leaving saddens him, his next words are sincere.  “I really hope you do.”

“Thanks, Cas.”  Dean turns to head out, but pauses halfway through the door, turning to look at Castiel.  “Would you, uh, mind if I gave you my number?  Just so you can let me know how he’s doing or, um, if anything happens?”

Castiel smiles.  “Of course, Dean.”

* * *

When Castiel had programmed Dean’s number into his phone – and given the other man his own, just in case – he hadn’t expected to be using it so soon.  But when Sam wakes screaming that night, completely inconsolable and terrified, Castiel can’t think of anything else to do.

So he calls Dean.

“ _Cas?_ ” Dean’s voice is sleep-rough, but alert.  “ _What’s wrong?_ ”

“Sam had a nightmare,” Castiel tells him, “and I can’t seem to calm him down.  I’m sorry to call so late, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Dean sighs.  “ _It’s alright, man.  The nightmares happen sometimes, and it sucks, I know.  Can you, uh, put me on speaker or something, so I can talk to him?_ ”

“Of course,” Castiel says, doing just that as he moves to sit cautiously on the side of Sam’s bed.  The boy is sitting up with his knees pulled in and his face buried on his crossed arms, essentially curled into ball, and doesn’t even seem to notice.

“ _Sammy?_ ” Dean’s voice seems to snap Sam out of it, and he lifts his head minutely.

“Dean?” his voice is small and raw from his screams.

“ _Yeah it’s me, buddy.  Cas said you had a nightmare._ ”

“Uh-huh,” Sam nods, and his eyes fill with tears yet again as his voice rises.  “Daddy was there, and he found us, Dean, and he took you away and–”

“ _Whoa, hey, Sammy!_ ” Dean cuts off Sam’s panicked rambling, “ _It was just a dream, okay, kiddo?  I’m right here, and you’re still at Cas’, and Dad is never going to find us, alright?  You know I’m always going to keep you safe._ ”

“But, Dean,” Sam sniffs, “you’re not even _here_.  Why aren’t you here?”

Castiel’s heart breaks for Dean in the brief pause that follows, unable to believe, still, that anyone would keep these two apart.

“ _I, um, I have to get some stuff taken care of, Sam,_ ” Dean says, and Castiel can hear the hurt that he’s trying to hide, “ _but as soon as I’m done, I_ promise _that we’ll be right back together again, okay?  In the meantime, you have Cas there with you, right?_ ”

Sam stops staring at the phone like he could crawl inside of it and turn his gaze to Castiel.  “Yeah,” he tells Dean.

“ _Well he’s gonna take real good care of you.  Right, Cas?_ ”

“Right,” Castiel assures them both, before turning to the Winchester in front of him.  “I promise – I swear to you – that I will keep you safe here, Sam.”

“ _See, buddy,_ ” Dean chimes in, “ _you’re gonna be just fine.  Do you believe me?_ ”

“Uh-huh,” Sam seems to mean it, uncurling to lie back down and wipe the tears from his eyes.  “Dean?” he asks.

“ _Yeah, Sammy?_ ”

“Will you sing me to sleep?”

Castiel can actually hear Dean’s smile through the phone as he agrees, and decides this is as good a time as any to give the brothers some privacy.  But as he stands up from the bed, a small hand grabs onto the hem of his sleep shirt.

“Castiel,” Sam protests.  “You gotta tuck me in, ‘cause Dean’s not here.”

“I do?”

“ _Yup_ ,” Dean agrees through the phone.  “ _Make sure you tuck in the edges real tight, too, ‘cause that’s how you make sure the monsters don’t get in.  Right, Sammy?_ ”

Sam nods seriously, eyes on Castiel, “Right, Dean.”

“I’ll do my best,” Castiel informs them, pulling the covers up around and tucking in all of the edges, essentially making a Sam-burrito.  As he works, Dean begins to sing from the other end of the phone.

“ _Hey Jude, don’t make it bad.  Take a sad song, and make it better…_ ”

By the time he’s done, Sam has fallen back asleep, tucked safely into his bundle of blankets.  Castiel picks his phone back up from beside Sam’s pillow, switching it off speaker phone as he walks out of the room.

“ _He asleep?_ ” Dean asks softly.

“Yes,” Castiel says.  “Thank you for doing that, Dean.”

“ _Not a problem, man.  Taking care of Sammy’s what I’m here for._ ”

“Well I’ll be sure to call you if this happens again, then,” Castiel says.  “My singing voice is nowhere near as good as yours.”

Dean laughs.  “ _I’m sure it can’t be that bad._ ”

“I’ve been told the sound of dying cats is more pleasant,” Castiel deadpans.

More laughter from the other end.  “ _Ah, well then maybe I should keep the singing duties all to myself.  It sounded like you had the tucking-in part down pat, though_ ,” Dean teases.  There’s a pause before he continues, voice fond.  “ _Sam likes you, you know?_ ”

“I like him too,” Castiel says sincerely.  “I’ll be happy to take care of him for as long as you need to get back on your feet,” he adds, reminding himself as much as Dean that this is only temporary and he shouldn’t get too attached.

“ _Thanks, man…again,_ ” Dean says.

“You’re welcome, Dean,” Castiel says with a smile, “…again.”

Castiel doesn’t know what else to say, and they sit on the phone in awkward silence for a moment before Dean clears his throat.

“ _Well I don’t know about you, dude, but three a.m.’s a little too early for me to be awake.  I’m gonna head back to bed._ ”

“Of course,” Castiel says, he didn’t realize how much time had passed while they’d been taking care of Sam.  “I should probably get some sleep as well.  Good night, Dean.”

He’s not sure, but he thinks Dean’s smiling as he answers.

“’Night, Cas.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next week is more of the same for Dean – the frustration of futile job searches and applications and the stress of a dwindling bank account.  But there’s a ray of light at the end of every day now.  After three nights in a row spent on the phone helping get Sam back to sleep after a nightmare – an issue that worried Dean, seeing as he rarely had more than one or two a week – Cas had suggested that Dean call before Sam went to sleep every night to see if they could prevent them entirely.  He had cited some medical something-or-other that he had read, but Dean hadn’t been listening – he was just too excited at the prospect of getting to talk to his brother every night.

Sure enough, it had worked.  So Dean continues to call Sam and Cas once a night.  Where Sam’s bedtime used to mean time to catch up on all his stupid adult responsibilities like bills and cleaning the apartment, it’s now Dean’s favorite time of the day.

* * *

Castiel has to admit that spending time with Sam every day has brought a whole new kind of happiness into his life.  He’s fascinated by the boy’s imagination and creativity, and had spent hours one day listening to Sam recount the entire plot of _Star Wars_ , from memory, with accompanying illustrations he had drawn himself.

He tried not to focus on how Dean’s resulting laughter when he told the other man about it that night made him entirely too happy, too.

Of course, Castiel can’t stay home all day every day forever.  Though he had managed to take some time off to get Sam settled, he does eventually have to return to work.

“But, why?” Sam complains from his spot at the table, looking up from his breakfast to watch Castiel pack his work bag.  Though he’s been well enough to go back to school, Hunter Elementary has this Friday off, and he finds it incredibly unfair that Castiel doesn’t get to stay home as well.  “I was gonna tell you about _Empire Strikes Back_ today.”

“I know, and I wish I could stay here all day and you could tell me all about it,” Castiel says honestly, “but I have to go to work.  My neighbor, Ellen, is going to be looking after you today, though, and I’m sure she’d love to hear all about it.”

Sam perks right back up at that.

By the time Ellen knocks on the door not five minute later, he’s practically bouncing up and down.

“Sam,” Castiel tells him, “this is Ellen.  She’s going to–”

“Have you seen _Star Wars_?” he interrupts, looking expectantly up at Ellen.

“I sure have, Sam,” she answers.  The boy’s face falls, and she looks at Castiel in confusion.

“Sam was looking forward to telling you about the movie,” he informs her quietly.

She nods in understanding before turning back to Sam, crouching down to his level.  “You know, though,” she says, “it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it.  I could really use someone to remind me what happened.  Do you think you could help me out?”

Sam grins, wide and toothy, and nods, reaching out to grab Ellen’s hand and drag her into the living room.

“I guess that’s my cue then,” he tells Ellen with a chuckle.  “Goodbye, Sam.”

“Bye, Castiel!” Sam calls.

Castiel mouths a thank you to Ellen and makes his way out the door.  Not for the first time, he thanks his lucky stars that his neighbor works nights and is more than happy to help look after Sam during the day.

It amazes him, as he heads down to his car, just how hard it is to leave this child that he’s only had with him a week and a half.

He tries not to think about how that’s the exact opposite of not getting attached.

* * *

 When Castiel arrives home to the sound of laughter and the unmistakable aroma of freshly baked pie, he knows not getting attached is a lost cause.

“Castiel!” Sam comes running out of the kitchen, covered in flour despite the oversized apron wrapped around his waist.  “We made a pie!”

“I can tell,” Castiel says, reaching out to brush some flour from Sam’s hair.  “What kind did you make?”

“Cherry!”

“That’s my favorite,” Castiel informs Sam, and the boy beams.

“Really?”

Castiel nods as Ellen emerges from the kitchen, significantly less flour-covered than Sam.

“Sorry about the mess, Castiel,” she says, reaching down to ruffle Sam’s hair.  “We were having such a good time that I didn’t even realize what time it was.”

“It’s not a problem, Ellen.  I can handle cleanup if you have to get to the bar.  Thanks for looking after Sam today.”

“Anytime, Castiel, seriously,” Ellen says.  She gives his arm a gentle squeeze before turning back around.  “Bye, Sam!”

“You’re leaving?” Sam cries.

“I am,” Ellen says, stooping down in front of him.  “But I live right next door, and you can come visit anytime, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam agrees.  He seems to think for a second before darts toward Ellen and wraps her in a tight hug.  “Bye, Ellen!”

She hugs him back just as tight before standing.  “You be good for Castiel, now,” she tells Sam, waving at both of them as she leaves.  “Have a good night, boys.”

“Good night, Ellen,” Castiel says.  He waits for the door to close before he turns back to Sam.  “What do you think of pie for dinner?” he asks with a smile.

* * *

“ _…and we had pie for dinner!  With ice cream!_ ”

“Really?” Dean smiles as he listens to his brother recount his day.

“ _Uh-huh,_ ” Sam’s voice is muted as he turns away from the phone.  “ _Hey, Castiel?  Can we make pie again when Dean comes over?_ ”  There’s a muffled reply before Sam’s voice returns to normal volume.  “ _He says yes,_ ” Sam says, “ _but I hafta go to bed now._ ”

Dean glances at the clock and realizes he and Sam have been on the phone for an hour now, and it’s way past his brother’s bedtime.  “He’s right, Sammy.  You should get some sleep, okay?”

“ _’Kay, Dean._ ” There’s the rustling of sheets before Sam speaks again.  “ _G’night_.”

“Night, buddy,” Dean says.  He hears the phone changing hands and then there’s a much lower voice on the other line.  Dean tries to ignore the weird things it does to the pit of his stomach.

“ _Hello, Dean._ ”

“Hey, Cas.”  Dean hears the other man’s muted goodnight to Sam, and waits until he hears a door shut before he continues, “So.  Pie for dinner, huh?”

“ _I assure you, there were also vegetables and chicken_.”

“Hey, I wasn’t gonna criticize you, man,” Dean teases.  “I was just going to express my jealousy that you guys had pie for dinner and I didn’t.”

Cas chuckles on the other end.  “ _Well if it’s an issue for you, you’re welcome to join us for another pie dinner on Sunday.  I’ll even go so far as to forgo the vegetables._ ”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Dean laughs.  “Sounds good to me.”

“ _Me too,”_ Cas says.  “ _I should probably get to bed for now, though.  Your little brother is a ridiculously early riser._ ”

“Ah, yeah,” Dean sympathizes – more than once he’s been woken up at the asscrack of dawn by being body-slammed with the full weight of a five year old.  “I’ll let you go then.  Have a good night, Cas.”

“ _You too, Dean.  I’ll see you on Sunday_.”

Dean hangs up with a smile on his face.  It’s been a hellish two weeks, but it warms his heart to think that he gets to spend an extended amount of time with his brother…and Cas.

* * *

Instead of his alarm clock, it’s Sam that wakes Castiel up on Sunday morning.  The shock of someone landing heavily on the mattress beside him jolts Castiel out of sleep, and he sits up, heart pounding, before he’s really even aware of what’s going on.  He blinks his eyes open to find Sam’s smiling face much closer than he expected and has to actually restrain himself from physically flinching backwards.

“Morning, Castiel!” Sam says, grinning.

Castiel takes a steadying breath.  As happy as he is to see Sam so comfortable in his home, Castiel has never been a morning person, and he has to reign in his automatic irritation at being torn from sleep so early.  “Good morning, Sam,” he says, forcing a smile on his face that he hopes isn’t actually a grimace.  “What has you up so early?”

“We gotta get ready!” Sam tells him, bouncing up and down on his knees on the bed.

“Ready for what?” Castiel asks.  Maybe it’s the fact that he’s not quite awake yet, but he can’t think of anything they would need to get ready for.

Sam rolls his eyes.  “For _Dean_.”

Ah.  Right.  Castiel had invited Dean to stay for dinner after he and Sam make pie.  But that isn’t until later in the day and it’s currently – Castiel glances over at the clock and barely suppresses a groan – six am; they have hours yet.

But when he glances over at Sam to tell him just that, he’s stopped short by the enthusiasm in the boy’s eyes.  “Of course,” he says instead.

He wouldn’t trade the bright smile Sam gives him for even a whole day’s worth of sleep.

After a quick breakfast (and two cups of coffee), Castiel allows Sam to drag him into the kitchen, insisting they double check  that they have all the ingredients necessary for apple pie (“Dean’s favorite!” Sam informs him).  Sam perches on the countertop and reads from the cookbook Ellen leant them, directing Castiel to search through the pantry.  Once they’re done, Sam gets distracted, flipping through the pages of the cookbook and asking Castiel if they can make other things sometime.  Castiel’s agreed to muffins, chocolate cake, pizza, and snickerdoodles by the time Sam reaches the end of the book.

He surveys the ingredients they have laid out on the kitchen counter for a moment.  Seemingly satisfied that they’re ready for Dean’s arrival, Sam turns to Castiel and asks, “Can we watch a movie now?”

Castiel nods, “Of course we can, Sam.  What movie do you want to watch?”

He really should’ve expected Sam’s shouted answer of, “ _Star Wars_!”

* * *

Dean’s not sure what to expect when he arrives at Cas’ place on Sunday.  On the one hand, he’s excited to have more than a few hours with his brother, but on the other, he doesn’t know what to make of Cas.

He respects the hell out of the guy, that’s for sure, both for taking such good care of Sammy, and for allowing Dean to stay as close to his brother as possible while they’re apart.  But there’s something else to it, if he’s honest with himself – something that makes him look forward to talking to Cas every night as well as Sam.

As he rings the doorbell, he reasons that it’s probably just the fact that Cas is the only adult he has any regular contact with nowadays.

Of course, that thought does nothing to stop the grin that spreads across Dean’s face when the man in question answers the door, rumpled and bleary-eyed, clearly just having woken up.

“Dude,” Dean can’t help but tease, “It’s like three in the afternoon.  Late night?”

“Early morning,” Cas informs him, voice sleep-rough, as he shuffles into the house, allowing Dean inside.  “Sam was very…enthusiastic about your visit.”

“Ah.” Dean’s immediately sympathetic.  He’s been woken up on many a picture-day, first day of school, Christmas, you name it, by Sam basically sitting on his chest.  “Been there,” he tells Cas.  “Where is the rugrat anyways?”

“He’s asleep on the couch,” Cas informs him.  “You’re welcome to go in.  I’m just going to,” he waves vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, “coffee.”

Dean has to stifle a laugh at the sight of Cas shuffle-stumbling his way into the kitchen.  He heads into the living room, where _Empire Strikes Back_ is playing on the TV.  Sam dozes on the couch, never one to be roused by the sounds of space-battle.

Kneeling next to the couch, Dean runs a gentle hand through the too long curls that are falling across his brother’s forehead.

“Hey, Sammy,” he says.  “It’s me, buddy.  Wake up.”

Sam grumbles before blinking his eyes open.  “Dean?” he mumbles, before seeming to actually wake up.  He’s up off of the couch in seconds, arms wrapped around his brother’s neck.  “Dean!”

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says with a smile, holding his brother tight.  “How’s it going kiddo?”

“Good!” Sam enthuses. “Me and Castiel got everything ready for apple pie!”

“Apple pie, huh?”  Dean says, releasing Sam, who bounces on his feet in excitement.  “That’s my favorite!”

Sam rolls his eyes with a smile.  “I know, Dean.”

Dean laughs.  “Alright, smartass.  Well, it’s a little too early for dinner yet.  What do you wanna do in the meantime?”

Sam looks around the room, before turning back to Dean with a shrug.  “I dunno.”

“There’s a park just down the street,” Cas says from the doorway, coffee mug now in hand.  “I haven’t had a chance to take Sam there myself, but you two could go check it out.”

“Can we go, Dean?  Can we?”  Sam’s practically vibrating with excitement now, and how the hell could Dean say no to that?”

“’Course we can, kiddo.”

Sam turns to Cas then.  “Are you coming too, Castiel?”

“Ah,” Cas glances between the two brothers, “I have a few things to get done here, Sam.  Why don’t you and Dean go, and then we’ll make pie when you two get back?”

“’Kay,” Sam says, bouncing out of the room towards the front door.

Dean stands to follow, but pauses as he passes Cas.  “Thanks, man,” he says, and he means it.  He appreciates that Cas is allowing him to spend some time alone with his brother, more than he can really say.

Cas smiles at him over the rim of his coffee mug.  “You’re welcome, Dean,” he says, just as sincere.  “Go have fun with your brother.”

They stand there for just a moment, gazes locked and soft smiles on their faces, until Sam’s shout from the doorway pulls them apart.

“Dean!  Come on!”

So Dean takes Cas’ advice and follows his brother out the door.

* * *

When they get back to Cas’ it smells freaking _amazing_ – like spices and home-cooking – something Dean hasn’t really had in years.

“Pie time!” Sam yells, barely getting out of his shoes and jacket before taking off like a shot.

Dean follows his brother into the kitchen, where Cas is putting things away.  “Dude,” he says.  “It smells awesome in here.  What did you do?”

The other man shrugs.  “I figured we should have something else besides just pie, so I made some chicken,” he says, before leaning towards Dean conspiratorially.  “I’m afraid I broke my word about no vegetables.”

Dean just laughs and claps a hand on Cas’ shoulder.  “If it smells this good, we’re not complaining.  Are we, Sammy?”

“Dean!” Sam complains, not listening to the question, as he’s too busy trying to tie a too-big apron around his waist.  “Come _on_!  Pie!”

“Alright, buddy,” Dean chuckles, turning away from Cas to help his brother.  When he looks back at the other man, he sees him edging out of the kitchen.  “You leaving, Cas?”

“Oh,” Cas says, “I just thought you two wanted to do this on your own.”

“Nuh-uh!” Sam protests.

“Yeah, man,” Dean’s with his little brother on this one.  “If we’re gonna be getting flour all over your kitchen – which I have a feeling we will be – we’re not going to be the only ones responsible.”

Cas smiles.  “Alright then.”

* * *

Pie making is just as messy as Dean had expected it to be, but it’s also the most fun Castiel has had in a long time.  As comfortable as Sam has become recently, he lights up even more around Dean, giggling and smiling and instigating a flour fight that Castiel doesn’t have the heart to put a stop to.

There’s something liberating about throwing handfuls of flour at the Winchester brothers, ducking out of the way when Dean tries to grind more of the stuff into Castiel’s hair. Not to mention the way Sam’s peals of laughter as he watches from his perch atop the kitchen counter fill Castiel with a kind of warmth his hasn’t felt since _he_ was a child.  It’s a long-missed feeling and, even amongst the chaos, he can’t help but wonder how it is that Sam and Dean can give it back to him so easily.

By the time the pie is actually in the oven, there’s flour on almost every surface of Castiel’s kitchen.  And yet he doesn’t feel the need to immediately start cleaning as he usually would.  Instead, he lets Dean and Sam goad him into ignoring the mess and sitting down to eat dinner while it’s hot.  He does go as far as making the Winchester brothers dust _themselves_ off at least, but that’s about it.

They sit down to a meal filled with laughter and conversation, and Castiel’s home is a warm and happy place.

The pie makes it even better.

* * *

 Sam quite literally falls asleep at the table, much to the amusement of both Dean and Castiel.  Dean volunteers to tuck him into bed, hefting the boy into his arms easily – it’s clearly not the first time he’s had to do this.

While he has the time to himself, Castiel finally gets to work tackling the disaster area that is his kitchen.  The quiet is nice, peaceful – not stifling like it used to be before Sam came to stay with him.  Castiel can’t help but think over just how many changes have been made in the few short weeks since then, losing himself in dangerous thoughts of comfort and family.  He’s so distracted that he nearly jumps out of his skin when there’s a voice from behind him.

“You want some help with that?” Dean asks.

Castiel turns to find the other man leaning against the frame of the kitchen entryway.  “It’s alright,” he says.  “You are a guest after all.”

Dean pushes off the wall.  “A guest who’s partly responsible for this mess,” he corrects with a smile.  “What can I do?”

The cleaning goes much faster with the two of them working.  Castiel’s impressed by Dean’s efficiency.  He hadn’t expected the other man to throw himself into helping so easily, whether because of his young age or the nonchalance with which he seems to do everything – _except interact with Sam_ , Castiel’s brain helpfully reminds him.

Of course, Castiel’s brain is not so helpful when it doesn’t stop him from asking, breaking the silence of the kitchen, “How old are you, Dean?”

“Twenty-four,” Dean says proudly.  “Why?”

Castiel doesn’t really know why, and he shrugs, trying for the best explanation.  “You seem to work much harder than others your age.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean says with a dismissive shrug, turning back to where he was scrubbing the countertop, “I had to grow up quickly, is all.”

Thankfully, Castiel’s brain kicks in, and he doesn’t ask anything further, instead allowing the kitchen to fall silent once again.

* * *

 When they finish and the kitchen is far more spotless than when they started cooking earlier, Castiel eyes the pie sitting on the counter.

“You know,” he says, “I’m not entirely full yet…”

Dean follows his gaze and then looks back up at him with a grin.  “Dude,” he says.  “ _Yes_.”

They sit down at the table and dig into entirely too large slices of pie.  Castiel can’t help but chuckle at the way Dean shovels the first bite into his mouth.  “Sam said you were a fan of pie, but I’m not sure I understood just how much until now.”

Dean swallows before smiling sheepishly at Castiel.  “What can I say?  Pie’s awesome.  And this pie?” he points to the slice in front of him.  “Probably the best I’ve had in a long time.  Although nothing’s ever gonna beat my mom’s.”  Dean’s eyes widen, seemingly surprised at his own words, before a melancholy frown settles on his face and he continues, “Haven’t had that in years though.”

Castiel contains his curiosity, beating down the urge to ask why.  To his surprise, Dean tells him anyway.

“She, uh, she died just after Sammy was born,” he explains, staring down at his plate for another moment before glancing up at Castiel.  “And, you know, as many times as I’ve tried to recreate the recipe, it never quite tastes the same.”

“I know what you mean,” Castiel finds himself saying.  “I lost my mother young, like Sam.  And my father was never really around when I was a kid – he was always on some business trip or another.  But when he’d come home, every time, he’d make the most wonderful burgers I’ve ever had.”  He laughs to himself, lost in a memory that hasn’t been dug up in ages.  “God, I haven’t had those burgers in over to a decade now, but the thought of them still makes my mouth water.”

Dean doesn’t say anything to that – not right away – but the look of understanding he gives Castiel is a comfort just the same.

They sit for a few minutes, slowly chewing respective pieces of pie, lost in their memories, until Dean breaks the silence.

“Is that why you wanted to do this whole fostering thing, then?” he asks.  “’Cause your own parents weren’t really around?”

“That’s a part of it, yes,” Castiel admits.  “But I’ve also always wanted children of my own.  It sounds, silly, maybe, but when I went into nursing and saw all the long hours and how isolated people became, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let family slip away from me.  I told myself that, even if I didn’t have anyone, by the time I was thirty and my career was stable, I would just…go ahead and start a family on my own.  Of course, I didn’t anticipate how difficult adopting would be for a single man, but I’m content with fostering for now.”

The words hang between them for a moment, before Castiel realizes that he’s effectively just spilled his verbal guts.  He doesn’t know when he became so comfortable around the other man.

“Oh, god,” he apologizes, “I’m so sorry.  I’ve just rambled my entire life story to you.” He drops his head into his hands.

“No – hey –” Dean says quickly, and there’s a warm hand on Castiel’s arm that causes him to look back up, “don’t be sorry, man.  I’m glad you told me.  And I get it, I do.  I mean.  Taking care of Sammy, it’s not exactly conventional, but it’s family.  And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.”  The grip on Castiel’s arm tightens minutely.  “For what it’s worth, Cas, even when I get Sammy back, I really hope that you find your family too.”

Castiel’s hand moves to cover the other man’s without him really thinking about it.  “Thank you Dean.”

They both take back their hands after another beat, allowing the seriousness of the conversation to drop and moving onto lighter topics.  Castiel asks how Dean’s job hunt is going, listening when the other man complains about the entire process.  He offers his help, should Dean ever need it, and receives a genuine – if pie filled – smile in return.

* * *

 By the end of the night, they’re chatting like old friends, right up until Castiel walks Dean to the door.

The other man turns to him as he slips his jacket on.  “This was fun,” Dean says.  “Maybe we could do it again sometime?  Just you and me?”

The question’s so unexpected that it stops Castiel in his tracks, and he can’t seem to make himself respond.

Dean misinterprets his silence.  “Shit,” he mutters.  “That was too weird, wasn’t it?  ‘Cause I’m Sam’s guardian, and you’re his fuckin’ foster dad and all.”  Dean turns to reach for the door, babbling all the while.  “I mean, I swear this isn’t some ploy to, like, spend more time with Sam or anything.   You’re just a cool guy and I—uh, just forget I asked okay?”

“Dean, wait,” Castiel says, regaining his composure enough to lay a hand on Dean’s shoulder, stopping him before he can slip out the door.  It is weird, he has to agree, but there’s something about Dean that captivates him, and he wants to get to know him better.  “I would love to have dinner with you sometime.”

Dean grins, and it’s infectious.  “Yeah?”

“Yes, Dean.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, backing out the door as he speaks and nearly tripping down the front steps, “I’ll, uh, call you?”

Castiel’s too preoccupied reigning in his laughter to speak, so he just nods.

“Cool,” Dean’s blushing now, barely visible in the light from the porch.  “Have a good night, Cas.”

Castiel recovers long enough to get out a soft, “Good night, Dean,” before shutting the door and leaning up against it as he lets out a bark of laughter.

“I heard that!” Dean calls from outside.

Castiel laughs even harder.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean and Castiel make plans for dinner on Friday night.  It’s a night that Castiel looks forward to all week, eyeballing the kitchen calendar as if he can make the days pass more quickly.  Of course, when Friday actually rolls around, his nerves take over.

He’s fishing around his bedroom closet, trying to find something to wear that’s not just a button-down shirt, when there’s knock on the door.

Castiel rushes to answer it, pulling the door open to find Jo Harvelle on his doorstep.

“Oh boy,” she says, eyeing his bare chest, exposed by the shirt he hasn’t gotten around to buttoning yet.  “If that’s your date outfit, I’m gonna have to say – I approve.”  She punctuates the statement with a wolf-whistle that Castiel would probably find funny if he wasn’t so panicked.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” he grumbles, making his way back into his mess of a bedroom.

Jo follows him in, raising her eyebrows at the pile of shirts on his bed before pushing past him and delving into his closet.  After a few minutes – and a few disparaging remarks about how a gay man really should have better clothing than this – she emerges triumphant, a dark blue button down and old pair of jeans in her hands.

“I’m going to have to take you shopping, because _seriously_ ,” she says, “but these’ll do for tonight.”  She tosses them at him, turning her back so that he can change.  “What time’s this guy picking you up, anyways?”

“Seven,” Castiel tells her, glancing at the clock – fifteen minutes, he can work with that.  “Thank you for looking after Sam, by the way.”

“Anytime, dude.  Beats a night working at the bar by a long shot,” she turns around cautiously and, seeing that he’s fully dressed, sends a wry grin Castiel’s way.  “I’ll take a hyper five year old over a drunk old guy any day.  Where is the kid, anyways?”

“In his room, reading,” Castiel tells her.  He leads the way out of his room and over to Sam’s.

“Nerdy five year old then,” he hears Jo mutter.

“Sam?” Castiel knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Sam calls back, and Castiel does, Jo right behind him.

Sam looks up from his _Star Wars_ (maybe Castiel should encourage a little more variety…) book, eyeing Jo curiously.

“Sam,” Castiel says, “this is Jo, Ellen’s daughter.  She’s going to be looking after you tonight, alright?”

Sam sets the book aside and swings down from the bed, walking over to Jo and scrutinizing her, eyes narrowed.  “Ellen’s your mom?” he asks.

“Sure is, kiddo,” Jo says with a grin, squatting down to Sam’s level.

“Ellen’s awesome!” he tells her.  “She’s seen all the _Star Wars_ movies!  Do you like _Star Wars_?”

“Uh, duh,” Jo says, reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair.  Surprisingly, he allows it.  Jo glances up at Castiel.  “Oh yeah, we’re gonna be just fine.”

There’s a honk from outside just as Castiel’s helping Jo set up the DVD player.

“I believe that’s my cue,” he says.  He looks over to where Sam’s snuggled into the corner of the couch.  “Be good for Jo, okay, Sam?  I’ll be back later.”

Sam nods and sends a, “Bye, Castiel!” his way before turning back to the TV.

Not as easily distracted, Jo follows Castiel to the door, trying to peek out the front window.

“Damn,” she complains, “hot date’s hiding in his car, huh?  Ah well, have a good time, Castiel.”

Castiel smiles at her as he pulls on his jacket.  He can’t help but feel a bit relieved that Dean didn’t come to the door; he hasn’t actually told anyone that he’s going on a date with his foster child’s guardian, not even Sam.  “Thank you, Jo,” he says, heading out the door.  “Call me if you need anything.”

He hears Jo shut the door behind him, but not before she whistles lowly and comments, “Damn, that’s a nice car.”

It’s true.  Castiel’s never seen Dean’s car before, but the black beast that sits in front of his house shines even in the dim light.  It’s almost as captivating as his date, who steps out of the car, walking around to Castiel.

“Heya, Cas,” Dean says from the driver’s seat.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Sorry I didn’t come up to the door,” Dean apologizes with a sheepish grin, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “I just, uh, wasn’t sure what the whole protocol was for, uh, this.”

“That’s alright, Dean,” Cas assures him, “I know this isn’t the most typical of situations.  I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to Sam, or…”

“Yeah,” Dean says.

“It’s probably not something we have to figure out on our first date,” Castiel offers.

Dean nods in agreement, but it seems that Castiel’s words aren’t quite enough to break the tension that fills the air, so he decides that it’s high time to change the subject.  “This is a very nice car.”

“’67 Chevy Impala,” Dean proudly informs him, awkwardness fading into enthusiasm as he strokes a fond hand over the steering wheel before starting the engine.  “Been taking care of her ever since...well, forever, really.”

Castiel’s surprised.  Dean had mentioned that he worked as a mechanic, but he hadn’t realized he’d been working on cars for such a long time.  He says as much to Dean as they take off.

“Yeah, man,” Dean tells him.  “I’ve been working on this one in particular since I was tall enough to reach the engine.  My, uh, my dad actually taught me how.”

It’s the first time Castiel’s heard Dean mention his father without anger in his voice, although there’s something like sadness and guilt there.  “That must have been nice,” Castiel says.

“It was,” Dean says, glancing at Castiel before he turns back to the road.  “I mean, my dad wasn’t always a bad guy, you know?  My mom and everything just – it fucked him up pretty bad.  But before that, he was a normal guy – a great guy even.”

“We can’t help but love our parents,” Castiel says, “if only just for the happy memories.”

Something about that seems to touch Dean, and he holds Castiel’s eyes for a beat longer when he glances over this time.  “Yeah,” he sighs.  “But I can’t help but feel guilty sometimes – ‘cause I have those happy memories, and Sam never will.”

Something heavy settles over the car, and it makes Castiel reach out and lay a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder.  “I think you’re doing a pretty wonderful job of giving Sam as many happy memories as you can,” he says.

“Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel leaves his hand there for another moment before squeezing and pulling it back into his lap.  The somber feeling seems to go with it.

Dean clears his throat.  “Anyways,” he says, “I didn’t ask you out just to tell you my twisted life story.”  He looks over to grin at Castiel, and it’s only a little bit forced.  “How do you feel about pizza and beer?”

Castiel smiles back at him.  “I am very much a fan of both.”

“Awesome.”

* * *

 While the heaviness of dark pasts leaves them, the honesty of their moment in the Impala stays with them for the rest of their date.

It’s…different, but Dean doesn’t hate it.  He’s actually really enjoying the chance to learn more about Cas.

They’re halfway through their pizza and pitcher of beer when Dean asks, “So how’d you get into nursing?  ‘Cause–”

“Because it’s not exactly a typical career for a man?” Cas interrupts drily, in a way that tells Dean he’s gotten this question before.

That wasn’t where he was going, though.  “Uh, no,” he reassures him.  “It actually really suits you, dude.  It’s just…not something that ever would have crossed my mind, going into school.”

Cas settles back into his side of the booth, taking a sip of beer as he explains.  “It wouldn’t have crossed my mind, either,” he sighs, “but, when I was eighteen, my father was on his way home from the airport, and...”

Oh.  Shit.  Dean reaches out to rest his hand over Cas’ on the table.  “Cas, you, uh, you don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to, man.  I was just curious.”

Cas just shoots him a grateful smile before he continues.  “I’ll spare you the details.  Suffice it to say that I spent a rather long time in the hospital that night.  It would have been hell, but...there was this nurse,” his smile turns into something nostalgic and fond.  “Her name was Meg, and she kept me sane that night.  Stayed with me the whole time my father was in surgery, even held my hand when the doctors came out to tell me they’d done all they could.  She helped me with all the paperwork that came after that too, because I had no idea what I was doing.  It’s weird,” he looks up at Dean then, “but I don’t remember actually saying goodbye to her or thanking her or anything.  I never went back to the hospital, so I didn’t see her again, but she definitely made an impression.  When I went off to school that fall, I changed my major to nursing, and that was that.”

“Damn,” Dean says, for lack of anything else.  He wasn’t expecting such a deep answer, but Cas just keeps surprising him.

Cas chuckles, and Dean can actually see him pull himself from the old memories, clearing his throat.  He doesn’t pull his hand back, instead flipping it to tangle his fingers with Dean’s as he asks, “What about you, then?  What did you go to school for?”

“Uh, mechanical engineering,” Dean tells him, momentarily thrown off by the ease with which Cas had linked their hands.  When he realizes what he’s said, he winces, glancing down at the table instead of Castiel.  “I, uh, didn’t actually finish my degree, though.  Dropped out about a year after my mom – you know.”

“To take care of Sam, I’m guessing?”  Cas squeezes his hand.  “That’s just as noble a cause as getting a degree, Dean.  Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah?” Dean looks up to find nothing but sincerity in the other man’s expression and smiles.  “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas shrugs.  “It’s the truth,” he says simply.  “And I’m sure you’ll make it back to school someday, if you really want to.”

There’s something about that statement, the quiet faith that Cas seems to have in him, that makes hope swell in Dean’s chest for the first time in weeks.  He holds Cas’ hand just a little bit tighter as they continue to talk into the night.

* * *

 They make it back to Castiel’s just before Sam’s bedtime, and he can’t help but offer.  “Would you like to come in and say goodnight to your brother before you go?”  He knows Dean misses Sam when they’re apart during the week, and, if he’s honest, he’s also reluctant to let this night end.

So of course he’s happy when Dean nods enthusiastically, turning off the Impala and following Castiel up to his door.

There’s a hand on Castiel’s shoulder when they get there, stopping him before he can unlock the door.  He turns to Dean questioningly.

The other man just smiles and shrugs, taking one step closer to Castiel.  “Technically,” he says, “this is the end of our date.”  He slips his fingers into Castiel, his next words just a little bit nervous.  “I didn’t want to miss the chance at a goodnight kiss,” he confesses.

Castiel smiles, placing the hand that’s not tangled with Dean’s on the other man’s hip and pulling him in.  “Well,” he murmurs, “we can’t have you missing out on anything, now can we?”

It’s just a chaste, gentle touch of lips, but Castiel can’t stop a grin from spreading across his face.  It stays there as he follows Dean into the house, ignoring the knowing look Jo throws his way.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean’s date with Cas kicks off a pretty awesome week.  The warm happy feeling from his date with Cas and getting to help tuck Sam into bed leads to the best night of sleep he’s had in a long while.  When Dean wakes up on Saturday, he’s determined to do something to make that Sunday one of the best with his little brother (and maybe Cas too).

That’s how Dean finds himself wandering the toy aisles of Target, specifically the shelves stocked full of _Star Wars_ toys.  He ends up finding a pretty badass puzzle that he knows Sammy will get way too much of a kick out of (because his little brother’s a nerd like that).  Dean has a feeling Cas is a puzzle guy too.

Once he’s got it loaded into his cart, Dean figures he might as well stock up on food for the week (and by food he basically means bread and peanut butter, ‘cause he’s kindof on a budget here).  He’s debating between chunky or smooth when a familiar voice comes from the other end of the aisle.

“Dean?”

He snaps his head up, surprised to find none other than his old boss.  “Rufus?”

“No, I’m the Queen of France.  Of course it’s me, boy,” Rufus says, caustic as ever, and Dean didn’t realize how much he’d missed the old guy.

“Sorry,” he says, reaching out to clap a hand on Rufus’s shoulder.  “It’s good to see you, man.  It’s just really weird to see you during daylight hours.”

That pulls a chuckle out of the older man.  “Yeah, well,” he says, “we’ve all gotta get our errands done at some point.  How you been, kid?”

Dean shrugs.  “Alright,” he says, before admitting, “stressed.  Forgot how rough the job market can be.”

He’s not expecting Rufus to roll his eyes.  “Boy, I told you if you needed help findin’ something, all you had to do was ask, remember?”

Dean doesn’t, actually, but he figures it was during the part of their last conversation that he wasn’t really tuned into.  He’s hopeful for all of a second before he remembers, “It probably doesn’t matter anyway.  My old boss basically blacklisted me; I can’t get hired any– OW, Rufus, what the hell?” he all but yells when the other man cuts him off with a pretty damn forceful slap upside the head.

“You’re a good kid, Dean,” he tells him, fishing through his pocket for something, “but you’re pretty damn stupid sometimes.”  He finds what he’s looking for and holds it out to Dean.

Dean takes it – it’s a crumpled business card that reads “Singer Salvage & Auto.”

“You go over there and tell Bobby I sent ya,” Rufus orders.  “He ain’t gonna give a shit what your old boss has to say, if I’ve got anything to do with it.”

Dean looks up at him, stunned for a moment, before managing a sincere.  “I will.  Thanks, Rufus.”

“Don’t thank me, kid,” Rufus says with a wave of his hand.  “I’ve seen the way you work, and you’ve earned it.  Sure as hell wouldn’t vouch for ya if you didn’t.”  He lets the moment of kindness sit for only a few seconds before he continues.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some shopping to do,” he says, gruffly as ever, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he moves by him.  “See ya around, Dean.”

“Yeah, see you,” Dean waves distractedly, still staring at the card in his hands, hope swelling in his chest.

He’s going to get Sammy back.

* * *

 Dean doesn’t even wait until he’s home to call the number Rufus gave him.  In fact, he’s barely shut the door to the Impala before he’s wrestling his cell phone out of his pocket and dialing.

“ _Yeah?_ ”  The gruff, demanding voice that picks up really shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does, considering who he got this number from.

“Uh, hi,” Dean winces at the way he stammers through his words, “is this Bobby?”

“ _Who’s askin’?_ ”

Dean clears his throat before speaking again.  “My name’s Dean, Dean Winchester.  I’m, uh, looking for a job.”  There’s silence on the other end, so Dean continues.  “I got your number from Rufus Turner?”

That gets a bark of laughter from the other man.  “ _Well, hell, boy, why didn’t you tell me that old bastard sent you my way?_ ” he says.  “ _You any good with cars?_ ”

“Been working on ‘em since I could hold a wrench properly,” Dean says, “so, yeah, you could say that.”

“ _Alright then, why don’t you come by tomorrow and we’ll see what you can do, kid._ ”

Dean can’t help the grin that breaks out across his face, letting out a huge sigh of relief.   “Will do, Bobby.  Thank you so much.”

“ _Don’t thank me yet, idjit,_ ” comes Bobby’s response, before the other man ends the call just as abruptly as he picked it up.

Despite Bobby’s foreboding last words, Dean’s really looking forward to tomorrow.

* * *

 Castiel opens his door on Sunday afternoon to find Dean smelling of sweat and engine grease, looking happier than Castiel’s ever seen him.

It’s infectious, and Castiel finds himself smiling as well.  “You got a job,” he says simply.

“Those are some awesome powers of deduction you got there, Sherlock,” Dean says.  He lets out a happy laugh, leaning in to peck Castiel on the lips.  He pulls back a second later, seemingly shocked at his own actions, but Castiel only smiles at him, reaching up to wipe at a stray streak of oil at his temple.

“Sam’s in the kitchen coloring,” he says fondly.  “Why don’t you go tell him the good news?”

Dean shoots him a grateful smile before heading on into the house.  Castiel remains in the doorway for a minute longer, trying to process the overwhelming change that’s happened in just a few minutes.  Dean got a job.  It’s wonderful news, really – but it also means that Dean will get Sam back, and Castiel’s house will be empty once again.

Castiel takes a deep breath before he follows Dean into the kitchen, finding the two brothers hugging each other tightly, matching grins on their faces.  He leans against the entryway and watches as Dean presents Sam with a huge _Star Wars_ puzzle, causing the boy to cheer in excitement.

He really doesn’t want to see Sam go.

And at this point, he’s not sure he could handle losing Dean either.

* * *

 Naomi needs time to process the proper paperwork, so Castiel gets two more days with Sam.  He takes time off of work, with the excuse of helping Sam pack his things; in reality, Sam has very little to actually pack, and he and Castiel spend most of their time working on the _Star Wars_ puzzle Dean brought over.

It gets to be about ten minutes before Dean is supposed to arrive to pick Sam up, so Castiel pushes up from where he’s been kneeling by the coffee table.

“We should get this packed up before your brother gets here,” he tells Sam.

The boy looks up at him in confusion.  “Why?”

“Because you’re going back home,” Castiel explains.  “Don’t you want to take all of your things with you?”

Sam seems to consider it for a second.  “But then you won’t get to work on it too,” he says with a frown.  “Why can’t I come work on it here?”

And Castiel’s not about to try and explain to Sam how he’s not sure they’ll get to see each other very much once he goes back home.  As great as his date with Dean was, and as close as he feels to the Winchester brothers, he’s honestly not sure where they stand.  He’s been anxious for the past few days, not knowing whether this is the end of their friendship, or if it’s simply a change in the dynamic.

“I could always come over to your house to work on it,” he tells Sam instead, not knowing if it’s a true statement or not.

Sam accepts it anyways.  “Alright!” he says.  Together they carefully roll up the mat the puzzle is on, setting it by the door with the rest of Sam’s stuff.

They’re just finishing up when the doorbell rings.

* * *

 Dean’s so excited when he shows up at Cas’ place on Tuesday that he’s almost bouncing up and down like Sam does.  When Cas opens the door to greet him, however, he’s hit by a much more somber mood.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and there’s something off about it.  “Sam just went to go double check that he has everything.  He’ll be out in a moment.”

“Dude, what’s up?” Dean can’t help but ask.  “Why am I getting like an awkward divorced parent kid exchange vibe from this whole thing?”

Cas just shrugs, and Dean finally puts a finger on what’s different.  Cas is closed off, almost sad.  “That’s kind of what this is, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Uh, no?  I mean, I figured we were still gonna be friends…at least,” Dean says, taking a step closer to the other man, who seems surprised at his words.  “Cas, did you think this was goodbye or something?”

Cas finally emotes then, relief and embarrassment rolling off of him in waves as he nods.  “I wasn’t sure what to think,” he confesses to his feet.

Dean rolls his eyes fondly, reaching up to cup Cas’ face and pull his gaze up.  “I meant it when I said I really enjoyed our date, you know?” he says.  “I was kindof hoping we could do that again.”

That gets a smile out of Cas, small but happy.  “I’d like that, Dean.”

When Dean drives off twenty minutes later, with his brother in the backseat and the promise of a second date with Cas on Friday, he can’t help but think that this feels like the start of something pretty freaking great.

* * *

 It’s not hard for Sam and Dean to settle into their old routine, and Dean is happier than ever to have his brother back home.  Not to mention, his new job at Bobby’s shop is more enjoyable than working for Dick Roman could ever hope to be.  Dean spends his days working on normal fucking cars, not the too-expensive trophy bullshit he’d been limited to at his old job.

Possibly the best perk to working at Singer Salvage & Auto is the fact that Bobby’s surprisingly okay with Dean leaving for a half hour every day to pick up Sam, even going so far as to allow the younger Winchester to hang out in the shop office for the rest of the work day.  He says it’s because Sam is surprisingly quiet for a five year old (which Dean knows is a total lie), but Dean would venture a guess that the old man actually enjoys the company.  Either way, it works out awesome for him.

Even better, Dean still has his date with Cas to look forward to on Friday night.  Of course, he hasn’t told Sam about that yet.

He decides to broach the subject when they’re on the way back from the garage that evening, Sam happily babbling on about all the books he found in Bobby’s office.

“Hey, buddy?” Dean has to cut him off, knowing that Sammy never really stops once he gets going.

Luckily his brother doesn’t seem to mind being interrupted.  “Yeah, Dean?”

Dean clears his throat.  “I’m, uh, gonna be going out with Cas tonight.  That okay with you?”

“Can I come too?” Sam asks excitedly.  “I haven’t seen Castiel in _forever_!”

It’s been three days, but Dean helpfully doesn’t point that out.  “Uh, I actually meant that we’re going out…like a date.  Jo was gonna come over and look after you.”  It was a little weird at first, Dean calling up Cas’ babysitter for Sam, but the two of them had really hit it off when he’d met her the night after he and Cas’ first date, and he couldn’t deny that she had taken really good care of his brother.

“Oh,” Sam’s clearly disappointed, but Dean can’t figure out whether he’s upset about being left out or about Dean and Cas being together.

“I’m sorry, buddy.  Maybe next time we’ll do something all three of us.”  That seems to appease Sam – at least he’s no longer frowning at Dean from his car seat – but he wants to make sure everything’s alright.  “Are you mad about me and Cas?” Dean ventures.

“Don’t be stupid, Dean,” Sam rolls his eyes with more sass than any five year old should really possess.  “Castiel makes you happy.  I like it when you’re happy.”

He says it simply, so matter-of-factly, but the words still make Dean’s heart swell.  He looks back at his brother through the rearview mirror, smiling when he catches the boy’s gaze.

“You’re a good kid, Sammy,” he says.

Sam just shrugs.  “I know, Dean.”

* * *

 Sam’s words stick with Dean as he makes his way over to Cas’ place that night, and he knows he’s grinning like an idiot when he knocks on the door.  He steals a quick kiss from Cas before bounding back to the car, tugging the other man along behind him.

Cas chuckles as they settle into their seats, and Dean starts the car.  “You’re happy today,” he comments.

“Yeah,” Dean admits, still smiling as he pulls away from the curb.  “I, uh, I talked to Sammy about us – you and me – and his response was just…”  Dean has to search for a second, trying to put the cause of his happiness into works.  “It’s just, sometimes it hits me how great of a kid he is, you know?  And it makes me think that maybe I’m not doing such a piss-poor job of raising him as I thought.”

He catches Cas’ slight frown from the corner of his eye.  “I don’t think anyone would ever accuse you of doing anything other than a brilliant job of raising Sam, Dean,” he says seriously.  “For all that he’s had to deal with, Sam is an incredibly intelligent and outgoing child.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean can’t help but counter, “I’ve probably got something to do with about half of that.  The intelligence thing is all Sam.”

He risks a glance at Cas, but the other man just shrugs and cocks an eyebrow at him.  “I guess that’s where we’ll just have to agree to disagree then.”  His tone brooks no argument.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?” Dean asks.  He’s not used to people challenging his assertions about himself.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Cas asks curiously.  “Granted, we’ve only known each other a short while, but I...care about you, Dean.  I see how hard you work and how wonderful you are with your brother, and I think it’s a shame that you don’t see just how amazing you are.”

For the second time in a matter of hours, Dean’s left speechless, with warmth bubbling up in his chest.  He doesn’t know how else to respond but to reach across the seat and take hold of Cas’ hand.  “Thanks, Cas.”

He can feel the Cas’ eyes on him as the other man squeezes his hand tight and says simply, “You’re welcome.”

He turns to meet Cas’ gaze for a second and is surprised at fondness he finds there.  It’s almost overwhelming, but luckily Cas breaks the moment by asking, “So, where are we headed?”

Dean turns his eyes back to the road and grins.  “How do you feel about laser tag?”

* * *

Castiel hasn’t had this much fun in ages.

As it turns out, he and Dean are both intensely competitive.  They play all of one game on separate teams before realizing that’s probably the quickest way to destroy their relationship before it even starts.

On the same team, though?  They’re unstoppable.

“Hell yeah!” Dean shouts when the game scores pop up on the screen outside the arena.  He loops a warm arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him in tight.  Castiel can’t help but grin and let out a small cheer, caught up in his date’s enthusiasm.  Cheering turns to laughter when Dean’s stomach lets out a very audible rumble.

“Oh shut up,” Dean says through his own chuckle.  “I used up a lot of energy leading us to victory in there, okay?”

“Of course you did,” Castiel tells him, ducking out from under Dean’s arm, only to grab his hand and pull him out of the laser tag area.  “Come on then.  Let’s feed you before we go back in.”

The laser tag place Dean chose is part of a larger arcade, complete with a bar area that they make their way over to.

The server comes over and takes their orders, setting two glasses of water on the table.

As she walks away, Dean swipes an arm through the light sheen of sweat on his forehead.  “Man, I don’t remember laser tag being this much hard work,” he jokes.  “Then again, I haven’t played since high school.  What about you?”

Castiel has to think for a second.  “I honestly don’t think I’ve been to laser tag since I was in elementary school,” he confesses.  “I didn’t really get out much in high school.”

“Bookworm type?”

“A little bit,” Castiel tells him, “though maybe not in the typical way.”  Dean looks at him curiously, so he explains.  “I was on my own most of the time – my father was gone on business trips, and there was no one else around – and it made me grow up faster than most of my classmates, I guess.  I never really related to them, so I spent most of my time at school studying.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean says.  “I mean, not so much in high school, but now?  I feel like an old man compared to most people my age, you know?”

“Maturity’s not so bad though,” Castiel counters.  “Besides, you and I get along just fine, so you can’t be _that_ old compared to others your age.”

Dean smirks at him then.  “Who knows?  Maybe you’re an old man too.”

“An old man who’ll kick your ass in laser tag any day,” Castiel challenges, unable to keep from mirroring the teasing glint in Dean’s eye.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Dean fires back, quirking an eyebrow as he stares Castiel down.  They hold each other’s gaze for who knows how long, until the server breaks the moment by appearing with their food.

Castiel eyes the giant greasy burger that’s been set down in front of Dean. “You know,” he comments dryly, “as a nurse, I can tell you that If you keep eating like that, you’re never going to make it to actually being an old man.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather go out tomorrow with a burger in my stomach than suffer through rabbit food for the rest of my life,” Dean says, gesturing to Castiel’s salad.

“Well, maybe I’d like to see you stick around a little longer than that.”  The words fall out of Castiel’s mouth without permission, and what was meant to be a teasing comment has now taken their conversation into far more serious territory.  Castiel glances up at Dean, eyes wide, as he braces for a negative reaction.

To his surprise, Dean – who’d frozen up initially in shock at the comment – stares at him for just a moment, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smile.

* * *

Dean wasn’t expecting Cas’ comment, but he can’t say he hated it.  In fact, it’s nice to know that he’s not alone in thinking that maybe this could be something.

Of course, that train of thought completely terrifies him, but he’s actively trying not to think about it.

Still, the atmosphere of the date changes after that.  They spend the rest of their meal teasing each other, playing footsie under the table.  It’s juvenile, really, especially from two men who were just complaining about how old they act, but it’s one of the most fun dates Dean’s been on in a very long time.

It gets even better when they make their way back to the laser tag arena.

Dean knows they won the last game they played, but now they are _dominating_.  And sure, they’re facing off against a bunch of kids, but there’s something about the way he and Cas are moving through the arena so totally in sync that thrills Dean.  Something about the dark and the excitement gets under his skin and, when they duck behind a corner for cover, he can’t help but grab Cas by the stupid laser tag vest, press him into the wall, and kiss the hell out of him.

Cas, for his part, seems surprised for only a second before he wraps his arms tight around Dean’s waist and pulls him in close.

Dean’s completely lost in the moment, in the flashing lights and pounding music of the laser tag arena, in the feel of Cas’ hands and lips and tongue.  Cas is apparently in a similar state, because neither of them notices the two giggling teenage girls that sneak around the corner, shooting both of them before darting away.

They pull apart, yanked out of the moment by the beeping of their vests and blinking at each other for a beat in the low light.

“Oh hell no,” Dean says, panting just slightly.

“Agreed,” Cas concurs, voice rough.

Dean grabs Cas’ hand, and, together, they run back into the fray.

* * *

 It’s no surprise that Dean and Cas win that round of laser tag, but neither of them really care.  In some unspoken agreement, they don’t stick around for another game, instead hanging up their guns and vests and making their way out to the Impala.

The heat from their kiss in the arena is still there, but it’s settled down into low simmer in the background as they slide into their respective seats.

They don’t speak much on the way back to Cas’ house; Dean cranks up the radio just a bit, drumming his hands on the steering wheel, and Cas seems content just to watch him, a soft smile on his face.

It’s not until Dean pulls up to the curb beside his house that Cas speaks.

“Well,” he says tentatively, as if not wanting to break whatever this is that’s settled over them, “that was…”

“Awesome?” Dean suggests with a grin.

“It was very awesome,” Cas says, smiling even wider.  “We should take Sam along with us sometime.”

And there’s something about that – Cas’ casual inclusion of Sam into their…whatever this is – that cranks that low simmer right back up and has Dean nearly tackling him in the dark of the Impala’s front seat and crushing their lips together.

Cas surprises him then, though, unbuckling their seatbelts and pushing Dean backwards until they’re horizontal in the cramped space, all without breaking what may be the hottest kiss of Dean’s life.  He takes over so easily, and Dean has absolutely no problem with that.

Well, he has one slight problem with that, and that’s the fact that the Impala wasn’t really built to fit two six-foot men in this particular position.  He’s totally willing to ignore it, though, considering how he really doesn’t want to detach from Cas anytime soon.

Cas, however, seems to have other plans.  Just as quickly as he responded to Dean’s kiss, he pulls back, sitting back on the seat and pulling Dean with him.

Dean’s about to ask him what’s wrong when he says, voice lower than Dean’s ever heard it, “We should go inside.”

Unfortunately, Dean’s immediate response of “hell yes we should” dies on his tongue when he catches sight of the clock in the Impala’s dash.  “Crap,” he says instead.  Cas cocks his head at that, brow furrowing in confusion, and Dean is quick to explain.  “It’s late,” he sighs, “and I told Jo I’d be back, like, fifteen minutes ago.”

Cas’ expression softens in understanding.  “Of course,” he says, disappointment clear in his tone.  “I’d better let you go then.”

He moves to disentangle himself, but Dean can’t help but pull him in for one last kiss.  “Don’t think I wouldn’t be in that house in a heartbeat if I didn’t really have to go,” he murmurs against the other man’s lips.

Cas pulls back with a smile at that.  “Goodnight, Dean,” he says softly, pressing one more kiss to Dean’s lips before getting out of the car.

Dean watches him go, and Cas is halfway up the path before a thought that’s been hovering in the back of his head makes its way to the forefront.

“Hey!” He’s out of the car and meeting Cas at the door before he really thinks about it.  Cas gives him another confused look, and Dean realizes he doesn’t actually know what he wants to say, just that there’s a question in his head that is suddenly needs answered.  “I, uh, I was just wondering if this means, uh, if we’re–” he cuts off his embarrassing stammering to try and form his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

Luckily, Cas beats him to it.  “Dean,” he asks, knowing smile creeping onto his face, “are you trying to ask if this makes us boyfriends?”

Well he wasn’t going to make it sound so high school, but then that’s kindof the theme of this whole night, isn’t it?  So Dean nods, trying not to blush at the question.

Cas grins.  “I’d like that very much,” he says, pulling Dean in for a chaste kiss before shoving him gently back towards his car.  “Now get home to your brother.”

Dean complies, and he drives the entire way home with a ridiculous smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I have unintentionally made Cas essentially the babysitter, and Dean the pizza man (thanks to [anoblecompanion](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/anoblecompanion/) for pointing that out :P).

Castiel hasn’t been in a relationship in a long time, and he’s forgotten how easy it can be, how quickly someone can sneak in and occupy entirely too many of your thoughts.

He allows his happiness about Dean to balance out the cold quiet that seems to have re-invaded his house.  He also throws himself into work – picking up extra shifts wherever he can.

It’s not exactly a conscious decision, and Castiel soon realizes that he’s left almost no time to actually spend with Dean.  Luckily, the other man is understanding, explaining that he’s been trying to work as much as possible anyways, making up the money he lost while he was unemployed.

Despite their busy schedules, the two manage to text throughout each day for the next few weeks.  It’s not as satisfying as actually being together, especially since the last time they’d seen each other had been so…physical, but it will do until they can make time once again.

That time comes nearly three weeks after Sam left Castiel’s.

_From: Dean_

_Dude did you promise Sammy youd teach him how to make pizza?_

Castiel vaguely remembers saying something to that effect when he’d been going through his cookbook with Sam.  God, that feels like it was forever ago.

**To: Dean**

**I believe I may have, yes.**

_From: Dean_

_Well you better be ready to make good on that promise man…hes been bugging me all week_

Castiel smiles as he types out his next message

**To: Dean**

**I think I can do that.**

_From: Dean_

_Awesome ;)_

* * *

 “How do you know what to buy if you don’t have a cookbook, Dean?”  Sam’s standing on the end of the cart in front of Dean, looking dubiously at the grocery list in his hand.

“Because,” Dean says, grunting as he hefts a bag of flour into the cart, “believe it or not, Sammy, I do know how to cook.”

Sam clearly doesn’t believe it.  “I think you need to ask Castiel,” he says, and Dean knows just from his tone that his little brother is not backing down on this one.

“Alright buddy,” Dean says, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Sam, “tell you what.  Why don’t you call him and ask, just to make sure?”

This seems to appease Sam, and he gleefully searches through Dean’s contacts and dials Cas (and Dean should really think about putting a passcode on his phone if his little brother is that good with technology).

Dean can tell the moment Cas answers, because Sam’s eyes immediately light up.  “Castiel?” he says.  “Hi!  It’s Sam.  I’m good, but me and Dean are at the grocery store and I don’t think he really knows what to buy for pizza ‘cause he doesn’t have a cookbook or anything.”  Sam listens intently for a moment before holding out the phone to Dean.  “He wants to talk to you.”

Dean takes the phone from Sam and presses it to his ear.  “Hey, Cas.”

“ _Hello, Dean_ ,” Cas says with chuckle, and damn Dean’s missed that voice.  “ _I hear your grocery shopping skills aren’t up to par_.”

“My grocery shopping skills are _just fine_ , thank you very much,” Dean says, with a pointed look at Sam.  “Sammy here just wanted to check that we have everything your cookbook requires.”

“ _Hmm, well, I’m currently very comfortable here on my couch and would rather not move, so how about you just pretend I’m reading you the ingredients?_ ”

That brings a smile to Dean’s face.  “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Cas.”

“ _That’s the only reason?_ ”

“Hmmm,” Dean pretends to think for a second.  “Nah, but Sammy’s giving me the stink eye over here, so how about you get to reading me that cookbook?”

Cas laughs on the other end as Dean “hmm,” “yup,” and “uh-huh”s his way through his grocery list, trying to ignore the feeling that laugh churns up in his stomach.

“Well, I think I’ve got it all here, man,” he says, turning his gaze from the list to his little brother.  “Looks like my shopping skills aren’t as awful as you thought.”

Sam just sticks his tongue out.

“ _Well I’ll let you get back to your shopping_ ,” Cas says.  “ _See you later?_ ”

“Yeah, man.  See you then.”

Cas’ soft, “ _Looking forward to it_ ” before he hangs up has Dean just as impatient as Sam for the rest of their shopping trip.

* * *

 Sam is basically vibrating with excitement when Cas knocks on the door of their apartment.

Meanwhile, Dean’s own enthusiasm has been tamped down by his nerves.  Cas has never been over to their place before, and Dean just knows it doesn’t compare to Cas’ house.  He doesn’t want the other man to start thinking he can’t take care of himself and his brother, like everyone else does.  This is the nicest place he can afford, and he cleans it up as best he can.

Still, Dean can’t help but take one more nervous glance around one last time before he opens the door, as if he’s expecting their shoebox apartment to have suddenly improved.

As it turns out, he shouldn’t have worried.  Cas doesn’t even look around the apartment when Dean opens the door – eyes trained, instead, on Dean’s face, as he breaks out into a grin.  He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off when Sam comes barreling up to him.

“Castiel!” the boy cheers.  “You’re here!”

“So I am,” Cas says, chuckling when Sam grabs his hand and starts trying to drag him towards the kitchen.  Dean tries to ignore the warm fuzzy feeling that settles over him at the sight.

“Hey, buddy?” Dean puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “Let’s let Cas get settled for a sec before we start dragging him all over the place, huh?”

Sam reluctantly drops Cas’ hand, pouting all the while.  “’Kay.”

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean tells him.  He ruffles Sam’s hair and nudges him towards the kitchen.  “How about you go start getting set up, and we’ll meet you in there?”

Just like that, the smile is back on Sam’s face, and he takes off like a shot, singing some made up song that seems to consist of the word “pizza” repeated over and over again.

Dean watches after him fondly for a moment before turning back to the other man.  “Sorry about that,” he says, running a hand through his hair.  “Hey, Cas.”

Cas smiles at him softly, reaching out and pulling him in for a kiss.  “Hello, Dean.”

They keep it chaste – Sam’s just in the other room, after all – but there’s an edge to it, something that hints at more to come and manages to warm Dean to the core.  The feeling brings a blush to his face, one Cas can’t seem to help running his fingers over.

“It’s good to see you,” he murmurs.

“You too,” Dean says, leaning in to kiss him once more.  Behind them, Sam’s little song seems to reach its peak – resulting in him shouting the word “PIZZA” to the roof of their apartment.  Dean pulls back.  “We should probably get in there before the neighbors complain.”

“Probably a good idea,” Cas agrees.  He allows Dean to take his hand and guide him through the apartment, finally taking a look around.

Dean follows his gaze and winces.  “I know it’s not much,” he starts, but Cas cuts him off.

“It’s something you’ve worked very hard for,” he says simply, giving Dean’s hand a reassuring squeeze, “and that’s what matters.”

Oh, well.  Dean’s not really sure what to say to that, so he changes the subject.  “No,” he jokes, “what matters is we’re about to destroy the kitchen.  Come on, man.”

They head into the kitchen, joining Sam in his excited chants of “Pizza!”

* * *

 When Dean said they were going to destroy the kitchen, Castiel had figured he’d been exaggerating – after all, they hadn’t made that much of a mess when they had made pie at his house.

Apparently, the Winchester boys had been holding back.

There’s no flour fight this time, but Dean’s attempt to spin a pizza up into the air like he’d seen on television resulted in flour being flung off of the dough in every direction.  Not to mention that half the pizza ended up stuck to the ceiling, hanging precariously over their heads.

There’s almost an incident when Sam finishes “designing” his pizza and is a little too eager in his haste to get it to the oven, flinging it onto the floor instead.  He looks down at it dejectedly, and Castiel thinks he’s going to cry, until Dean “slips” in the fallen pizza with an overdramatic “Whoops!”, knocking his own creation off of the counter in the process and ending up on his ass on the dirty kitchen floor.  Sam’s face does that thing little kids do where he looks like he’s still torn between laughing and crying, and Castiel sees his opportunity.  He slides his own pizza off of the counter – directly onto Dean’s head.

Both Dean and Sam stare, stunned at him for a moment, before Sam bursts out into peals of uncontrollable laughter.  Dean glares at Castiel for all of a second before he’s seemingly unable to hold back his laughter as well.  He doesn’t reject the kiss Castiel gives him while Sam’s still distracted laughing, so Castiel figures he’s not really that mad.

By the time their second pizzas are in the oven, nearly an hour and a half later, the kitchen looks as if they had been blowing up pizzas, instead of preparing them.  The pizza-makers themselves don’t look much better.  Dean had stuck his pizza-topping covered hair in the sink to rinse it off, but there’s still sauce smeared across the collar of his shirt, mozzarella scattered across his shoulders and back, and flour covering the rest of him.  Sam’s in a similar state of disarray and has somehow managed to smear tomato sauce behind his ear.  Castiel’s probably the cleanest of them all, but that’s not saying much – he’s dusted in flour and know for a fact that there’s at least one flour handprint on his ass, courtesy of Dean.

As he had with the pie, Castiel goes along with the brothers’ demands that they wait until after they’ve eaten to clean up the kitchen.  Dean does draw the line at covering the couch in flour, though, suggesting they at least clean themselves up before they settle in for a movie.  He offers Castiel a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Castiel tries to pretend that he doesn’t relish the worn-in cotton and Dean-smell that comes with them (judging by the smirk Dean sends his way, he fails).  Dean helps Sam into pajamas before putting on sweats himself, and they all settle into the living room couch.

As Dean turns on the television and dims the lights, Castiel finally takes the chance to look around.   It’s a small place, yes, but there’s something about it – from the well-worn movie posters and drawings on the walls, to the toys strewn about the floor – that makes it cozy and warm.  This is a family home – and that’s more than Castiel can say for his own empty house.

He doesn’t feel alone now, though, sandwiched between Dean and the arm of the couch as they all debate which movie to watch.  Sam’s insisting on _Star Wars_ , as usual, while Dean offers him other options that aren’t a series each of them has seen entirely too many times.  When Dean suggests _Indiana Jones_ , Castiel speaks up.

“I’ve never seen that one.”

He’s not expecting two heads to whip around, almost identical incredulous stares.

“You’ve never seen _Indiana Jones_?” Sam looks horrified.

“How the hell have you seen _Star Wars_ but not _Indiana Jones_?” Dean asks, just as appalled.

Castiel shrugs, uncomfortable under the weight of both their stares.  “ _Star Wars_ is a classic.”

“So is Indy!” Dean argues.  He looks like he wants to continue, but moves over to the shelf of DVDs instead.  “We’re watching it,” he says firmly.  Sam nods his head in agreement, his serious face an adorable imitation of his brother’s.

“Alright then,” Cas tells them as Dean makes his way back to the couch and starts the movie.

“Alright then,” Dean agrees, settling in with an arm thrown over Castiel’s shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Dean smells like tomato sauce and dough, but Castiel can’t find it in himself to care as he snuggles in closer.

* * *

 They spend the evening slowly making their way through the series, stopping partway through _Raiders_ to pull their pizzas from the oven.  Each of them had made their own personal pizza (Castiel’s a good balance of vegetables and meats, looking like it came from a pizza shop, Dean’s an amoeba-shaped mess of meat and cheese, and Sam’s a mini pizza featuring a lopsided pepperoni smiley face), and they turned out surprisingly well.  They’re tasty enough, at least, for them all to be gone by the time the movie’s over.

They take a break to clean up the kitchen, and then move on to _Temple of Doom_ , which Sam falls asleep halfway through.  Once the movie finishes, Dean takes the opportunity to get Sam to bed, while Castiel watches, curious to see what this routine looks like here as opposed to at his house.

And then it’s just Dean and Castiel, curled up on the couch, trading soft kisses (they’re both very aware that Sam is just in the next room) as they watch _Last Crusade_ , and there’s nowhere else Castiel would rather be.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean’s life has been going exceptionally well.  He’s got his brother back, he’s got Cas (who he still can’t refer to as his boyfriend without his cheeks burning), and he’s got his job at Bobby’s which is strangely enjoyable.  The feeling of things going smoothly is unfamiliar to Dean, and, honestly, it makes him a bit uncomfortable.  So he’s actually a little relieved when their apartment gets condemned one Thursday, a couple weeks after their pizza night – a pipe had burst in the neighboring apartment, and opening up the shared wall had revealed Dean’s mold problem to be a much bigger issue.  Dean still has his brother, he still has Cas, and he still has his job – he just doesn’t have a place to live.  It’s the one bad thing that could’ve happened that he’s more or less okay with.

Cas doesn’t exactly share his perspective.

“ _What do you mean you don’t have a place to live?_ ” he asks incredulously over the phone that night – as sappy as it is, nightly phone calls have kindof become a thing for the two of them.

Dean settles further into the couch as he explains, “Well, they want us out by Monday, but they said they’ll have the place back to being livable in a month or two.”

There’s a beat of silence before Cas asks the question Dean’s been trying to avoid all night.

“ _So what are you going to do in the meantime?_ ”

Dean heaves a sigh, blinking up at the ceiling like it’s going to magically show him the answer.  “Well, I mean, I’m cool to crash on people’s couches, and I think Bobby’s got a bit of extra room, but I hate to uproot the kid and throw him in a whole new place again, you know?  I was actually, uh, gonna ask if you wouldn’t mind him staying with you for a while.”

Another pause and then Cas speaks, his tone much more hesitant.  “ _You could just…both stay here_.”

Dean’s not gonna lie, that was the first thing he thought of, but…  “Wouldn’t that be a bit weird though, man?  I mean, having your…”

“ _Boyfriend?_ ” Cas’ tone is wry, and, sure enough, the word still makes Dean smile and blush, thankful the other man can’t see him.

“Yeah, that,” he says.  “Wouldn’t it be weird to have me basically moving in?  I mean, it hasn’t even been two months...”  He doesn’t say that it feels like it’s been much longer, because that just leads to the whole bundle of emotions he trying not to think about just yet.

“ _You wouldn’t be moving in_ ,” Cas insists.  “ _You would just be staying for a month or two.  I have a perfectly good guest room the two of you could stay in.  Honestly. Dean, it’s something I would do for any of my friends – many of whom I care about far less than I do you and Sam._ ”

The words make Dean’s heart swell with warmth and affection, but he’s still reluctant to say yes.

“ _I’m sure Sam would much prefer it that way_ ,” Cas adds then.

It’s a low blow, using Sam to get him to stay, but Dean has to admit a bed and his brother nearby is far preferable to couch surfing.

“Alright,” he agrees.  “But only for a month or two.”

* * *

 It’s…oddly not as awkward as Dean expected.  The night that they effectively “move in” to Cas’ place is like any other night that Dean, Cas, and Sam have had dinner together, except they just don’t leave.

Instead, Dean puts Sam to bed (he’s got school in the morning) before wandering out and finding Cas doing dishes in the kitchen.  He has the urge to go up behind him and wrap his arms around the other man, but there’s something too domestic about that whole thing.  So he settles for leaning against a nearby counter instead.

“You need any help with that?”

Cas looks over his shoulder at him with a smile.  “I’m almost, finished, but thank you.”

“Dude,” Dean says, “thank _you_.  Seriously.  Thanks for letting us stay here, Cas.”

The other man sets the last dish into the drying rack, turning off the sink and toweling off his hands before turning around.  “You’re welcome,” he says, walking over to wrap his arms loosely around Dean’s waist.  “Of course I’m really just taking the opportunity to be able to see my boyfriend every day instead of every few weeks,” he teases, pressing a kiss to Dean’s lips.  “It’s selfish, really.”

For the hundredth time Dean thinks he should feel awkward about this whole situation, about the fact that they’re basically living together after only two official dates, but he doesn’t.

It’s not awkward as they spend the next hour cuddled up on the couch watching the news and talking about whatever comes to mind.

It’s not awkward when Cas announces that it’s getting late and they’d better get to bed.

It’s not awkward when they give each other a goodnight kiss before heading to separate rooms.

When Dean tucks himself into bed next to his little brother that night, all he feels is warm and safe and cared for – something he hasn’t had in a very long time.

And if there’s another feeling floating around in there – one that Dean resolutely refuses to name – well, Dean’s not going to think about that right now.

* * *

 Castiel has never had a month and a half fly by as quickly as it has with Sam and Dean.  The more he hears about Dean’s old apartment being fixed up, and the closer they get to the two month mark, the more reluctant he is to let go of the comfortable routine the three of them have established.

That’s not to say that they haven’t hit a few bumps in the road – as it turns out, while Castiel has to drag himself out of bed every morning, Dean meets each day with enthusiasm unlike anything Castiel’s ever seen – they’ve made it work.

Dean gets up first every morning and makes coffee and breakfast in between helping Sam get ready for the day. They generally all three manage to sit down to eat together before Castiel leaves for work, and Dean leaves to drop Sam to school before heading to the garage.

In return for breakfast, Castiel has taken to making dinner every evening when he gets home.  It’s odd – actually having to stock up the refrigerator and cook for more than one person, but he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it.  Since he gets off of work a few hours before Dean does, Castiel’s also taken to picking Sam up from after school care early, ostensibly to help save Dean a bit of money – of course, if he’s honest, he just misses spending time with the boy (there’s always an unfinished puzzle sitting atop the coffee table in the living room now).

Another perk of having Sam and Dean staying with him – temporarily, Castiel has to keep reminding himself – is that, despite their still fairly hectic schedules, he gets to see his boyfriend at least once a day, if only for an hour or two.  Unconventional situation aside, they’ve continued to go out on dates, but they also spend just as much time just hanging out together with Sam.

Dean still returns to the guest room every night.

Castiel likes to think this keeps him from feeling like they’re truly living together, but that’s a lie.  He’s gotten used to their easy domesticity and the warm fuzzy feeling that comes from no longer living alone in an empty house.

He can’t really deny that it’s starting to feel much more like a home.

* * *

 Dean gets home – no, not his house, _Cas’ house_ , he has to remind himself – one night to find Cas and Sam in the kitchen, in matching aprons.  Sammy’s standing on a stepstool, brow furrowed in concentration as Cas helps him flip what looks suspiciously like a burger patty.  Dean tries to suppress the memory of Cas telling him how burgers were his and his father’s thing, and fails spectacularly, something warm and fond growing all too quickly in his chest.

That same feeling creeps in again.  The one that it’s getting harder and harder not to put a name to, harder and harder to deny.

Still, there’s something about this whole situation that feels dangerously like family.

That feeling doubles when he walks into the kitchen and Cas turns to him with a smile and a shrug.  “It’s Sam’s last day of school tomorrow,” he explains.  “I thought that deserved some sort of celebration.

And shit, Dean’s had a lot on his mind today, and he totally forgot that Sam’s done with his first year of school tomorrow.  He pushes his own worries to the back of his mind and grabs an apron.  “Alright,” he says, leaning over Sam to ruffle his hair and give Cas a quick kiss hello, “celebration it is then!”

He keeps silent about what’s on his mind through a dinner of burgers and freshly baked pie, however, waiting until Sammy is tucked safe and sound into bed (after literally falling asleep at the table).  He brushes a gentle hand over his brother’s forehead, love swelling up in his chest at the way Sam smiles even in sleep.

* * *

 Castiel’s waiting on the couch for Dean when he comes out of his and Sam’s room.  Dean beelines right for him, and Castiel shifts over in what’s become a habit.  Dean doesn’t hesitate to sink down next to him with a heavy sigh, arm coming up automatically to wrap around the other man.

This has become Castiel’s favorite part of the day – the peaceful time when he gets to curl up on the couch with his boyfriend, relaxing and unwinding with the person he’s come to care about more than anyone else (though Sam is a close second at this point).  Of course, it’s not quite so peaceful tonight.  As good as Dean is at putting on a happy face for his brother, Castiel can tell that there’s been something on his mind all night, can see the gears turning inside his head.  He lets himself sink into Dean’s warm embrace for just a moment longer before he breaks the comfortable silence between them.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, entwining his fingers with Dean’s.

He can feel Dean tense in surprise at the question.  “What do you mean?”

Castiel reluctantly sits up enough to be able to look his boyfriend in the eye.  “You do realize that I know you well enough by now to tell when something’s wrong, right?  You’ve been...off, since you walked in the door.”

Dean sighs again, pulling his hand from Castiel’s to scrub it down his face, staring absently at his own lap.  It takes him a minute to speak, but Castiel knows Dean has to build up to talking about difficult things.  He doesn’t mind waiting.

Finally, Dean speaks, only glancing up at Castiel briefly before staring back down at his hands.  “They fixed up my old place,” he explains, and Castiel’s heart sinks just a little at the prospect of Dean leaving, “but apparently they did a bunch of renovating or some shit while they were in there, so the landlord’s jacking up our rent due to ‘upgrades’.  It’s bullshit if you ask me, but I’m not really in a position where I can fight them about it.  So I guess I’ve got to start looking for a new place to live.”

Dean looks up again then, and his expression seems braced for disappointment or rejection.  Clearly he doesn’t understand that Castiel’s heart is practically soaring with excitement at the fact that he can finally ask Dean the question he’s been trying to figure out how to say for weeks now.

Dean quickly seems to realize that Castiel’s expression is not what he expected, his own face shifting into confusion.  “What?” he asks, the question coming out rough and defensive.

Castiel chews his lip for a second before he answers.  He knows what he wants to say, knows that this is probably the only chance he’s going to get to say it, but he’s also terrified that this will ruin what the two of them have.  Still, he has to try.

“Well, um,” he ventures nervously, “I know it’s unconventional, but…with you and Sam here…I don’t know about you, but I’m happy with the routine we’ve developed.  I know you and I have only been together for a few months now, and it sounds a little crazy, but…maybe you could stay?”

The question hangs precariously in the stunned silence between them, and Castiel can only take the tension for a moment before he continues speaking, babbling now.  “We can always reevaluate if it’s too strange, or it’s not working out or–”

“Yes!” Dean blurts out suddenly, and now it’s Castiel’s turn to be shocked into silence.  “I mean,” Dean swallows and continues in a calmer voice, “yeah.  I think that’ll work.  Like a trial period or whatever.”  His tone is casual, but when Castiel catches his eye, he can tell that Dean is just as anxiously eager about this as he is.

“Exactly,” he says, unable to stop a wide grin from spreading across his face.  “And you know, if anything–”  He’s grateful when Dean cuts him off again, this time with a finger against his lips.

“Hey, Cas?” he murmurs, leaning in and replacing the finger with his own lips.  “This is the part where you shut up and kiss me.”

And, well, when he puts it that way, Castiel can’t help but comply.

* * *

 In the span of time that Dean has been staying with Cas, they’ve been pretty good about not getting up to anything that could potentially scar Sammy.  Most of the more physical side of their relationship has been restricted to their date nights, when Jo looks after Sam at Ellen’s house.  Of course, there have been a few decidedly high school make-out sessions late at night on the couch – and one notable time in the back of the Impala – but it hasn’t really gone any further than that.

If he’s honest, Dean’s been placing this boundary on their physical relationship because he felt like more physical intimacy would just contribute to the whole domestic feel of what they’d had, and he really didn’t want to start anything that he wouldn’t be able to hold on to.

Now that it appears he can have it, though, Dean’s not holding back.

Neither is Cas, apparently, as he lies back on the couch, pulling Dean over him.  They make out as quietly as possible for what seems like hours, sinking as far into each other as they can in a common area of the house.

Of course, neither of them really wants to stop there, and it soon becomes clear that they _really_ need to take this into Cas’ room like ASAP.

They do, tripping over furniture and each other’s feet in their attempt to make it there without breaking apart, and they try to be as quiet as possible in their…celebrations.

Sam doesn’t wake up or anything, so Dean counts it as a win.

* * *

 Later, as they lie together, catching their breath and enjoying being this close for the first time, Castiel marvels at what he’s gained in his life tonight.  His house isn’t going to be empty anymore.  It’s now filled with Sam and Dean, and the sense of family they’ve brought with them.  It’s definitely not something he expected when Naomi called him what seems like forever ago, but it’s certainly more than he ever could have asked for.

Eventually, Dean sighs and makes to push up from his place on Castiel’s chest, going back to sleep in his own room like he has the entire time he’s been staying here.

But he’s not just “staying” here anymore, and Castiel’s not about to let him go so easily.

Instead of releasing him, Cas curls a gently arm farther around Dean’s shoulder.  “Sleep here tonight?” he asks.

He can feel Dean’s grin against his chest as his boyfriend curls against him closer, breath warm against his sternum as he answers sleepily.  “Mm’kay.”

* * *

 They’re only asleep for a few hours when a cry sounds from Sam’s room.

Crap.  Of course.

Sam hasn’t had any nightmares in weeks, but Dean’s been sharing a bed with him this whole time.  Dean blinks awake blearily, still exhausted from his and Cas’ “celebrations” but knowing he needs to go help his brother.

Thankfully, Cas seems to be marginally more awake, already rolling out of bed.  “I’ve got it,” he offers. “I’ll come get you if it’s a bad one.”

“’Kay, thanks,” Dean mumbles into his pillow, smiling when he feels the other man press a kiss to the top of his head.  He honestly doesn’t think he’s ever been so content in his whole life.

Of course, that all comes crashing back down when he hears Cas’ panicked, “Dean!” from the other side of the house.

He’s barely out of bed before there are pounding footsteps, and Cas is back, standing white faced and shaking in the doorway.

Dean’s across the room in a second, hands flying out to grip Castiel’s shoulders.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

Cas’ voice is grim when he replies.  “Sam,” he chokes out.  “He’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, um, please don't kill me for that ending?
> 
> Like I said at the beginning, this story took on a life of its own, and I decided to leave it at a cliffhanger rather than rush the ending. THAT BEING SAID, I'm already working on the sequel! I'll start posting chapter as soon as I've got them finished and edited.
> 
> In the meantime, you can come check me out on [tumblr](http://leatherandfeathersandfluff.tumblr.com/)...just don't yell at me too much, 'kay?
> 
> Seriously, though. I really hope you all enjoyed the fic, and THANK YOU for reading!!


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